


Zwischen Immer und Nie (Between Always and Never)

by sudowoodo



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Codependency, First Love, First Time, Love at First Sight, M/M, Manipulative Gellert Grindelwald, Mild Disaster Gay Albus, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pining, Sexual tension for days, Slow-ish burn, Summer of 1899, Tragedy, Vaguely CMBYN based, Young Albus Dumbledore, Young Gellert Grindelwald, pretty much, though it's been awhile since I read HP in fairness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-09-16 00:47:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 38,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16943832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sudowoodo/pseuds/sudowoodo
Summary: Love only exists between persons of the same nature.Of all the great and powerful ideas among those words, not a single sentence had moved Albus as this. Because this felt as though it was written just for him.”It's perfect."Gellert gazed at him, one eyebrow cocked, from his desk where he was busy inking down the next chapter.Albus smiled and tossed the manuscript back on the table. "It's the rest I don't agree with. I simply cannot get behind that American rule."Gellert laughed loudly. "You wish to marry a Muggle, Albus? There is something you're not telling me, yes?"Albus tipped his head sideways, growing weary of his friend always missing thepoint. "Oh, I don't know. I feel some sympathy with those who are not allowed to love freely." Gellert's gaze became fixed on the floor before his eyes roamed up to take in Albus' face. Albus placed his hands on his stomach and sighed gently. "I can onlyimaginewhat it's like not having the freedom to walk hand in hand with my love, or marry them, or kiss them in the street."There was a long pause. Then, seriously, "What are you talking about, Albus?""I think you know."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> OK OK I know there's most likely no shortage of Grindeldore summer of 1899 fanfic out there but hear me out:… I have no self control.
> 
> Originally based on Call Me By Your Name, but ended up pretty much becoming its own thing.
> 
> Please comment and give love, if you like it! It makes my day :)

“Merlin, you’re still here?” groaned Aberforth, trailing mud into his room only to find Albus still camped out in his chair by the window.

Albus glanced up from his book with a bright smile, not even bothered hiding his excitement anymore. He’d been there since morning with his Plato and his favourite quill, bouncing up at every movement outside, from the leaves caught in the breeze to the Muggle milkman to the next-to-next-door neighbours’ dog when she got loose for the third time that week.

“She’s gone to collect him now, not ten minutes ago!” Albus told his brother cheerfully. He leaned forward to get a better view out the window, then gave up and turned another page of his book with his wand.

“Baggy said she’d fetch you immediately when he’s arrived, you sad-sack.”

“Oh, come, Abby, won’t you let me have this one thing?”

“I will not. From what you’ve told me he sounds like a right ponce.”

“Ponce or not, you will be civil with him,” said Albus, pointing a finger without looking up from his reading. “We’re having dinner with them tonight, Ariana too.”

“Oh, I'll be civil with him, real civil,” muttered Aberforth. Albus rolled his eyes, and as he did he caught a glimpse of two shadows up the road and suddenly pressed his nose to the glass.

“I think that’s them.”

Aberforth paused a moment, then wandered over, drawing back the net curtains to get a better look. Albus threw him a wary glance, but ultimately swept the curtains on his side back as well. At the top of the road two figures were making their way down the cobbled street. Professor Bagshot he recognised, small and mousy in her long coat despite it being halfway through June already, and next to her a taller figure, straight-backed and high-chinned, looking around the streets with vague interest.

“Looks like a ponce, too,” said Aberforth, and Albus reached over to thump him.

As they drew nearer, he saw they were laden down with luggage — Albus  _knew_  he should have insisted on going himself — but by the look of the bags they must have been charmed to be weightless. There were far too many Muggles about to simply levitate them all, of course. Albus wondered if things really were any different where Gellert was from.

The two on the street were conversing. Although the window was open a crack, it was hard to make out the words, but the boy’s voice was rather loud and accented in a way that slightly stilted his speech. He was doing most of the talking, but seemed to listen well also.

“He’s… confident,” said Albus, trying to find equal ground between his brother and his newfound friend. He and Gellert had not been writing very long, but he already knew the other boy to be startlingly self-assured. However, there were plenty of justification for that — he was also terribly quick, and clever, and charismatic to boot. His letters were admittedly most captivating, and although Albus was uncertain at first as to why he was corresponding with this indiscriminate, apparently _delinquent_ young man from Durmstrang, he quickly found himself quite taken with him.

“You’re obsessed with him,” said Aberforth, which was the same thing, really.

Albus didn’t even bother denying it. “Again, Ab, could you  _please_  try not to ruin the one good thing that might happen to me this summer?” He paused, peering through the window as the professor and her great-nephew approached the gate.  _Perhaps ever?_  he thought to himself, eyes roaming over the boy.

Down below, Gellert glanced up at the house next door to the Bagshot’s on the other side, then at the Dumbledore residence. Almost instantly — and before Albus had time to duck behind the curtains — those dark eyes flicked to the upstairs window and met with his own.

Aberforth, yanked his end of the curtain shut, sneering. “You were caught!”

Albus breathed in to mutter a curse, but found it fade away on his tongue. The eyes meeting his were steady and shadowed, and they narrowed a moment before the corners of his lips turned up.

_Albus?_  he mouthed.

Albus raised his eyebrows.  _Gellert?_  he replied.

The boy down below grinned widely, eyes flashing. Albus found himself grinning back.

He leaped up from the window seat, letting the curtain fall closed. “We should greet them,” he said, snatching Aberforth by the scruff of his shirt.

“Oi!” shouted Aberforth, shaking him off. “Fine —  _fine_. I’m coming, just get your hands off me.”

Albus steered his brother down the stairs ahead of him — trying as he went to soften the spring in his own step — and out the front door they went.

“Ah, boys, there you are!” said Professor Bagshot as she fiddled with the front door key. “Grab some of these bags, won’t you?”

Gellert’s gaze shifted from his aunt to Albus once more. Closer now, Albus noticed his eyes were mismatched, one so dark it looked almost black, and the other with a pale drop inside of it. It gave him the most frightful appearance, until he smiled again and those same eyes seemed to twinkle.

Albus approached the low garden wall between the two houses, hands in pockets, and Gellert dropped his bags and walked quickly over to meet him.

“Pleased to finally see you, Albus,” he said, deep voice tumbling across the phrase.

“And I you,” replied Albus, smiling and offering his hand in what he hoped was a most casual manner. Gellert shook it firmly, briefly even bringing his left hand up to join the other. Then they both started laughing, cordiality forgotten, and flew together for an embrace. Albus slapped the other boy’s back, and came back grinning, heart singing, and feeling as though his life was finally about to become somewhat bearable again.

Gellert glanced behind Albus then. “And this must be Aberforth?” he asked, offering his hand again. “I have much heard about you — about both of you.”

“Ah, yes, nice to meet you, et cetera,” grumbled Aberforth, leaning over for a quick and loose handshake before he hopped over the wall. “And I already know more about you than I ever cared to know about anyone, so no need for chit-chat, thank you.”

Albus choked a little and stammered to deny it, but Gellert cocked his head to one side and laughed. “Is that so?” he asked, throwing Albus the most glorious of teasing smiles. Albus smiled back weakly, wishing for death.

“My brother has far too little excitement in his life,” explained Aberforth, and Albus wished harder.

_And why would that be, I wonder?_  thought Albus, biting his tongue.

“Well, hopefully I may remedy this,” said Gellert with a good-natured smile. He gave Aberforth a pat on the arm, leaning in slightly. “I will my best to keep him off your hands, Aberforth.”

Aberforth, to Albus’ great surprise, huffed a little laugh at this. He threw Albus a smirk, and turned to the house, picking up half the visitor’s forgotten bags on his way.

Albus pursed his lips and glared at Gellert, who was failing to hide a grin. Gellert sneaked a look back at house, and seeing Aberforth was gone he elbowed Albus in the ribs. “I may win him over yet,” he whispered.

Albus shoved him off, shaking his head as he climbed over the wall and made for the house. “And here I thought I finally had an ally.”

“You do, my friend, but I could not stand your brother to despise me.”

“Why not? He already despises  _me_.”

Gellert’s brow wrinkled slightly and he looked up at the house again. “The more he resents me, I fear, the less I may succeed to stealing you away.” He turned back to Albus with a Machiavellian grin, making Albus’ heart quicken in a most alarming way.

“Well, that is… quite clever of you,” he managed to reply, coughing in an attempt to hide his discomposure.

Gellert nodded, picking the rest of his bags up. “I am determined to make most of our time together, that is all.”

Albus drew a breath and placed a hand on his friend’s arm, dropping his head with a sigh. “I — I must say, Gellert, I am glad you're here.”

Gellert seemed to hesitate, then put one of his bags back down and reached up to give Albus’ hand on his arm a squeeze. “And I too, Albus.” Albus glanced up as Gellert’s gaze met his own, tender and earnest in equal parts. With a moment’s pause their hands lingered in their touch, almost purposefully, he thought. Then Gellert’s fingers slid off his own and he nodded once before turning and heading into the house.

Albus reluctantly followed, far too aware of the warmth remaining on his hand from the other boy’s touch.

“Albus, dear, will you show Gellert to his room?” the professor called from the kitchen.

“Oh, certainly,” he replied, flicking his wand at the bags Aberforth had abandoned in the hall and bounding halfway up the stairs. Gellert, already exploring the rooms of the ground floor, emerged again with equal enthusiasm and pursued him. Albus looked behind, thrilling a little at the feeling of being chased, and found himself grinning. “We’ve quite the setup for you, dear boy.”

Gellert groaned delightedly when he saw the bookshelves lining the walls crammed to bursting with old books and tomes, the towers of papers and scrolls piled in the middle of the floor. “Oh,  _excellent_ ,” he said, rushing to grab the first piece of parchment he saw to read. “This is — excellent.” He looked all around, eyes landing finally on Albus standing in the doorway. “Most excellent,” he repeated, grinning as his eyes raked over him.

Just as Albus had noticed from the window, Gellert was handsome — terribly handsome, really. That came as no surprise: Albus had always inadvertently imagined him as such. From his letters alone his charisma was obvious, a highly attractive quality in itself. However, in person, in body, he was tall and athletic, and he had sharp, darkly defined features set in a fair face. Flaxen hair curled gently to his shoulders, half pulled back from either side and tied behind with a black ribbon.

So handsome was Gellert that Albus felt a distinct nervousness and terror and total elation when he looked at him, which he was currently doing and had been doing consistently since he’d first laid eyes on him. In some sense, he knew exactly the source of that nervousness. It had been there, always, ever since his becoming a man: a reality barely realised, never verbalised, and certainly never to be acted upon. Just an inkling in the back of his mind, a fancy kept hidden away. And, yet, not once had he looked at a boy like that and seen that same elated terror surging back at him. It was there in rising chest and fervid gaze and a most wicked glimmer in the eye which seemed to say,  _I’d destroy you right now, if you’d let me._

But — no, no, no, he must have been mistaken. Far too improbable that would have been, and far too shamelessly was the boy going about it _if_ (by some astonishing happenstance) it weren't. He remembered at once how Gellert had complained in his letters of the few and feeble debate partners back at Durmstrang, his mind apparently growing cobwebs with the tedium of his dull-witted companions. Surely that was all he was eager for, a good debate with a like-minded individual — and Albus could certainly relate to that. Whether or not they were truly like-minded, he had not yet decided, but he knew for certain that in this sense, at least, he would not be so easily destroyed.

Though, admittedly, he had plenty of cobwebs himself.

“I’m glad you like it,” he said eventually, finding himself slightly short of breath and hot under Gellert’s intense gaze.

“I do.” Gellert's eyes did not leave Albus’ for a solid, heavy moment, then he smiled and gestured with the parchment in his hand. “These are not all my aunt’s, I presume?”

“This may be something like my second bedroom,” admitted Albus, moving to the bookshelves, half to conceal the heat he hoped was not visibly flushing his face and neck. “A lot of the books I’ve no space for have made their home in this room. I even used to sleep here, sometimes, if time got away from me when I came over to read. ”

“I hope you will continue this habit,” said Gellert, making Albus choke a little and turn back in surprise. Gellert wrinkled his brow at his reaction. “We will do much work together this summer, I hope?”

Mouth dry, Albus laughed weakly and nodded. Merlin, this was dangerous. He needed to get ahold of himself right this minute.

“Speaking of which,” muttered Gellert, bringing his leather handbag to the bed and searching within in. He brandished a bundle of papers and tossed them to Albus.

Startled, Albus caught them and read the title, which was in German. Before he could attempt to pick up the meaning, he noticed his own name printed beneath it.

“My friends might have all sold to me their souls to get their hands on a copy,” explained Gellert, and Albus glanced up in shock to see him smile. “I hope you do not mind I took the liberty to make translation.”

“Mind—?” stuttered Albus. “Why — Gellert, this is incredible!” He was grinning so wide it was starting to hurt, leafing through the pages of his old Transfiguration Today article with trembling hands. “How — how many copies? I must pay you for the effort, not to mention the parchment…”

“This is fine,” said Gellert. His voice took on a teasing note as he placed his hand on his chest. “The fame I have received as penpal of the great Albus Dumbledore is more than enough.”

Albus laughed a little uncomfortably, suddenly wary of the flattery, but was far too pleased to linger on that for long. “ _Thank_  you, Gellert.” He looked down at his paper again, shaking his head in disbelief. “I could send this to the publisher, what do you think? Perhaps they’ll even do a reprint.”

Gellert shook his head. “I would not mind, but I am much focussed on my own work at the moment. Few chapters completed already — you will read for me, yes?”

“Why — of course!” said Albus, eager to not let the favour go to waste, and even more eager to find something vaguely interesting with which to fill his summer days. “When shall we start?”

At that moment, Professor Bagshot’s voice carried up the stairs, calling them for dinner. They grinned sheepishly at each other, realising they’d been hogging each other’s attention all this time. Then Gellert started and suddenly like schoolboys they fought each other out the door and raced down the stairs, laughing hysterically the entire way.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Dear Albus,_   
>    
>  _I fear I must apologise for the conversation brought up at dinner. I was much eager to discuss with you, but the last thing I intended was to upset Ariana — I realise this topic must be terribly emotional for your entire family._   
> 

Gellert gave a shout of triumph when he beat Albus to the dining room, and a familiar high-pitched shriek followed closely behind. Albus rushed to intervene, finding Ariana had arrived in the room before them and was now cowering at Aberforth’s elbow.

“Why you — don’t  _scare_  her like that!” shouted Aberforth.

“My apologies, please,” insisted Gellert, holding his hands up and keeping a distance. He turned to Ariana, his face becoming calmer and pleasant. “You must be the sister, Ariana,” he said, smiling and holding his hand out, palm upwards, the other behind his back. “I am most pleased to meet you.”

Ariana looked wide-eyed between Gellert and Albus, who smiled at her and moved forward. “Ariana, this is my friend, Gellert. He’s Professor Bagshot’s nephew, you understand? Would you like to say hello?”

The girl shook her head wildly, and Albus sighed a little. “It’s fine,” he whispered, pulling Gellert’s arm down. Aberforth was grumbling something, and took Ariana’s hand to get her seated. Gellert took this in stride and sat a respectful distance across the dinner table, but Albus saw how he watched Ariana with sharp, discerning eyes.

“What’s that?” asked Aberforth, nodding to the paper in Albus’ hands.

“Oh, just my paper,  _auf Deutsch_ ,” he said, waving it a little and then hiding it away underneath his chair as he sat down. “Gellert was so kind as to make copies.”

“Didn’t realise you were famous outside of England,” said Aberforth. Then he narrowed his eyes, turning on Gellert. “Did you make money off that?”

“No, of course I would not—”

“Ach! Too bad. Merlin knows we could do with it.”

Albus’ stomach dropped with a nauseating combination of mortification and guilt, then felt heat rise up his neck in anger at his brother’s lack of tact. With panic he realised his own earlier response might be misconstrued with this revelation — to push for a reprint, no less! — and his eyes flew to Gellert to gauge his reaction. But Gellert simply gave a small ‘ah’ sound, clearly unsure of how to proceed, then seemed to choose the safest and politest path which was to adopt a neutral expression and say nothing at all. Albus was glad for that much, but he certainly felt like boxing Aberforth’s ears later on.

Thankfully Professor Bagshot returned at that point, with beers for two older boys and fizzy drinks for the younger. “And what is it that you’re working on now, Albus?” she asked, taking her seat at the head of the table as her house elf brought out dinner.

“Well, I happen to have another transfiguration piece in the works, and after that I’m considering a proposal for my own column — something themed, you know — a transformation of the week, or something similar.”

“Not an opinion piece?” asked Aberforth drily.

Albus laughed, kicking his brother under the table.

Gellert looked between the two of them, seemingly amused. “What good suggestion, Aberforth. Albus, you would not consider to do this?”

Aberforth looked like he wanted to kick Gellert now, and Albus was no longer sure which one of them the newcomer was trying to tease. “I’d be more inclined to do a young wizard’s guide to the home. Though I’m not sure the readership is there, unfortunately.” He hoped this sounded tongue-in-cheek and not just pathetic, but in all honestly he’d already discovered plenty about maintaining a household (not least of which that dragon blood was a surprisingly good stain remover).

“And your thesis, Gellert? How is it coming along?”

“Most well, Auntie, thank you. Certainly ready for a first read, if you may.”

“Whatsit ‘bout?” asked Aberforth through a mouth full of mash, forcing Albus to kick him again.

Gellert blinked. “Why, I thought you were not interested in chit-chit with me, Aberforth?” he said, and now Albus was certain that Gellert was the most dreadful tease he’d ever met in his life. And although the scowl on Aberforth’s face was a wonder to behold, he also felt a pang of childish annoyance.  _Don’t tease HIM. Tease ME. Pay attention to ME. You’re MY friend, aren’t you?_

“Fine, fine! I didn’t want to know anyway…”

Gellert opened his mouth again but before he could answer, Ariana butted in. “Is it about GOATS?”

Albus had to stifle a laugh and Gellert smiled handsomely, leaning slightly forward. “Unfortunately it is not, though that sounds like much better an idea.” He produced a small notebook and pencil from his pocket and scribbled something down. “Goats… I may steal that?”

“You MAY, but only if I get one hundred and thirteen per cent of the profits.”

Gellert burst out laughing, and Albus found himself beaming, too. What a relief, that Gellert was so amiable! His sister was difficult to handle at the best of times, and off-putting in most conversations due to being so very childish and simple notwithstanding her age. He was lucky, too, that she was altogether calm tonight. She really was so sweet when she was not raving mad.

“No, wait,” said Ariana, very seriously. “I’ve changed my mind.” She then immediately became engrossed in mushing up her peas.

“That is fair,” replied Gellert. “It is much too good idea to give away, and I am afraid my own is most dull indeed.” Realising he’d entirely lost the girl’s attention, he glanced at Albus instead with a smile. There was a small lull, then, and Gellert sat back and cleared his throat. “If by chance you really do care to know, Aberforth, it is simply a case study on certain witch trials in central Europe at the turn of last century. Not far from here there was another, which shares similarities with one of my cases. I was hoping I may visit the town and conduct interview.” He took a sip of his beer, glancing up at the silent table. “Certainly not as interesting as goats, I admit.”

With a start, Albus realised that he’d been enjoying watching Gellert and listening to his voice to the point where he was failing spectacularly as a conversation partner. “Oh — yes, isn’t it shocking? In Exeter! Did you ever learn about that in History of Magic, Ab?”

“Can’t say I was ever paying too much attention in History of Magic…”

“Well, I was. And I can’t believe it was left off the curriculum.”

Professor Bagshot was shaking her head. “Not all young men are as rational and mature as the ones at this table. No need to be bringing that kind of thing into a classroom.”

“Is that what you think, Auntie, or what your Ministry does?” asked Gellert. She gave him a look which clearly stated he’d hit the nail on the head, then reached over the table and lightly slapped his head for his insolence. He came back from it with the cheekiest of grins, which Albus found himself reflecting most excitedly when next their eyes met.

“What am I to do?” she sighed, relaxing back in her seat again. “The Ministry have their teeth in Hogwarts, and I must sell my books.”

“But this is exactly it,” said Albus emphatically, so thrilled at the depth the conversation had taken on. “How are we to learn from the past if we are not taught of the past? It is so very English, isn’t it, to say the bad things will go away if we just pretend they never happened?”

Gellert was nodding and nodding, holding his hand up to signal he would respond as soon as he was finished with his current mouthful of food, but Aberforth only had vegetables left, and a face on like this was the biggest load of hippogriff manure he’d ever heard in his life.

“Merlin’s sake, Al,  _you’re_  English.”

“ _Yes_ , but what I’m saying is—”

“And weren’t half the people killed in those trials Muggles anyway?”

“Does it matter that they were?” asked Gellert sharply. “It remains that our kind was the target, that we were the ones wanted dead.”

Clearly startled by the sudden intensity, Aberforth spluttered a little before doubling down. “Well, when  _was_  it anyway? Two — three hundred years ago? Past is past. Things are different nowadays.”

“How can you say that?” demanded Albus, suddenly loud. Aberforth turned red in the face, and with a start their heads both snapped to look at Ariana. The girl had her hands fisted on her knees, shoulders hunched, and a quiet groan, unnoticed with all the chatter, was growing in volume from her throat.

“Now you’ve done it,” hissed Aberforth, jumping up to put his arm around her. Albus looked on, frozen in terror and expecting the worst, but there was no explosion of magic or damage done. Ariana just shook herself, looked up, and smiled a little sleepily at Aberforth.

Albus swallowed the heart that had leapt into his throat, and turned to Professor Bagshot. “Thank you so much for this evening, Professor, it was really lovely. However I think it might be bedtime for us.”

“You have to say it like that, don’t you?” muttered Aberforth.

The professor smiled kindly at him, and he felt with a pang the old worry and resentment — from which the excitement of the day had been so successfully distracting him — sink back into the pit of his stomach like a stone. Knowing it must have shown on his face, he was having a hard time looking anyone in the eye. Then, just as he rose to leave, Gellert’s chair also creaked back and the other boy stood.

“I will be retiring also,” he said, smiling politely around the table. “Much thanks for dinner, Auntie, and to the Dumbledores for the company.” Albus’ heart leapt a moment, thinking they might all leave together — already considering how he might excuse himself from his brother and sister to give himself and Gellert more time to talk — but instead Gellert just nodded at each of them in turn, before turning swiftly and leaving the room.

Dazed, and honestly feeling a bit rejected, Albus was quiet on the short walk home. But when Ariana begged for hot chocolate he thought it only fair to give it to her, so the three siblings congregated around the stove in the kitchen as the sun outside the drapes cast its low light into the room and flooded it with orange.

“Well, did  _you_  like him, at least, Ariana?” he asked, ignoring the elbow that Aberforth jammed into his belly for the question.

“Hm,” said his sister, folding her hands as she considered this with utter concentration. She grinned at him. “I haven’t decided.”

“I bet you thought him handsome, though?”

Ariana shrieked with giggles, and Aberforth grunted. “You gonna marry our sister off, now, are you?”

Albus sighed. “I was just… oh, nevermind.”

It was Aberforth’s turn to put Ariana to bed — Albus had sorted it in advance on the off chance that Gellert would have time or energy to chat for the evening — but drinking alone in his kitchen was not how he’d imagined the evening transpiring. He poured two glasses from his hidden stash of whiskey, drank one and then refilled it, thinking. He wondered again as to why he had been rebuffed — then reminded himself that he hadn’t really been rebuffed at all, if only for the fact that he’d never gotten a chance to ask. Then — would it be too forward to call in on Gellert tomorrow? Or should he wait to see if Gellert called in on him instead? And hadn’t the other boy seemed so eager before — was it all just falseness, in the end?

Merlin, why was he even thinking this over so much? It occurred to him that perhaps he cared ever so slightly too much what Gellert Grindelwald thought of him.

“Not that he’d have her,” continued Aberforth, after he’d come back down.

“Hm?”

“Your  _Gellert_. It wouldn’t be so terrible marrying into that, I suppose, but even if she wasn’t a head-case, our family’s still a shambles. No doubt Mr Muggle hater over there cares about his bloodline.”

“He’s not like that at all,” said Albus immediately. “And he doesn’t hate Muggles either. You have to understand that the last witch trial on record in Europe happened not a century ago, Abby. Many alive who lived through it, and many hundreds who did not live at all. Pretending like it didn’t happen—” Aberforth was flapping his mouth at this point, not even listening, “—just allows  _resentment_  to grow, and pretending like we don’t exist just allows Muggles to misunderstand and  _fear_  us.” Albus paused for breath, then continued with renewed passion. “ _Gellert_  simply believes that keeping ourselves hidden away causes more damage than good. On  _both_  sides. I must say I agree with him on that much.”

“Only a Muggle hater would dredge up that old kind of history. Write a  _thesis_  on it, no less.”

Albus sighed, realising his brother would not be convinced of this, not least because he raised his hackles whenever a conversation got the least bit intellectual. Or as Albus liked to call it,  _bloody interesting for once_. “So you didn’t like him.”

“Well he’s just another  _you_ , isn’t he?”

Albus thought he should have been used to those digs by now, but a few still stung well enough. He grabbed the second whiskey glass from beside him and placed it in front of Aberforth, who looked up indignantly.

Grumbling, his brother finally managed to get out one last gripe. “You should be more responsible…” Albus resisted an eye roll, and Aberforth snorted a little as if it were only a joke to begin with. He took a mouthful of the drink anyway, screwing his face up as it burned on the way down, then slouched a little in his chair. “He’s sucking up to you, you know.”

“I know,” said Albus, leaning on the counter and taking a sip.

“Oh, you do, do you?” barked Aberforth. “Seems like you’re enjoying it just terribly, though, eh?”

Pitiful as it was, Albus couldn’t deny he was enjoying it. But he agreed with Aberforth as well: he couldn’t help but be suspicious of someone so very clubby in nature. Gellert had already happily admitted to trying to ‘win’ Aberforth over, after all, showing he was more than happy to use that charm to get his way. Yet his admiration and interest in Albus did not feel entirely disingenuous, either. Perhaps, Albus thought, he simply envied the boy his gregariousness. He himself had never been much interested in making people like him. Respect was fine, and recognition was admittedly quite addictive, but being  _liked_  was something different. Still, he found he wanted Gellert to like him. In fact, he wanted Gellert to like him very much.

_Dangerous,_  he told himself.  _That’s a dangerous line of thought._

“You haven’t finished the new article, then?” asked Aberforth, saving Albus from himself.

“It’s finished, technically, but I want to air it out a bit before I send it off. I’m sure there’s a better way I could phrase the conclusion.”

Truth be told, he’d finished it in a mad rush just to give himself some free time to spend with Gellert.

Merlin’s beard. He really was obsessed, wasn’t he?

“Just send it in already and start another — they’re paying you, aren’t they?” Aberforth downed his drink with a smack of his lips, but didn’t appear to be moving. Instead he glanced at Albus with a gruff expression. “Or maybe you could look for a real job.”

Albus tapped his knuckles on the countertop, biting back his retort. “Perhaps I’ll ask Gellert to give it a once over…” he mused, grinning as it made Aberforth groan.

They stayed a little later in the kitchen, Ab (eventually) thanking him (gruffly) for the drink (but probably just going for another refill before the bottle was hidden away again), and Albus returned to his room in two minds about what tomorrow had in store. Perhaps he should just work on his article, do something productive, instead of waiting around for Gellert. However after a moment, there was a bang on his door and a note was shoved underneath.

“And you can tell him I’m not an owl!” hissed Aberforth, and stomped (admittedly lightly, so as not to disturb Ariana) back to his room. Albus scrabbled to snatch up the letter, reading the front with interest as he automatically made for his desk.

_Albus Dumbledore, Bedroom at the Front of the House (with the green windowpanes, if I remember correctly), 7 Howl’s Lane, Godric’s Hollow._

He laughed a little and opened it.

_Dear Albus_ , it read, and for some reason it delighted Albus to recognise once more the handwriting of the boy he had been corresponding with for less than a month now, all at once so much closer and realer, not to mention even more intriguing in person.

_I fear I must apologise for the conversation brought up at dinner. I was much eager to discuss with you, but the last thing I intended was to upset Ariana — I realise this topic must be terribly emotional for your entire family._

Albus read the words, eyes barely keeping up with his mind, cursing as he picked up his quill and dipped it frantically in the nearest inkpot. Why,  _why_  had he stayed downstairs talking to Aberforth for so long? Merlin forbid Gellert think him angry for the evening’s discussion — or worse, a slow replier. Or — Merlin, worst of all — incapable of sound and rational debate on controversial and emotionally-charged topics. (Which was the best kind of debate, after all.) However, there was still more to the letter.

_Though I admit myself most impressed by your own candour (you have been reading the Nietzsche I sent, have you not!) Your arguments were music to my ears, and it was most thrilling to hear them directly from your mouth. There is no doubt remaining in my mind that we are of one mind on this matter (at least!) and I expect this summer to be most enlightening for both of us. My aunt is a genius, not least for having introduced us._

_I do hope you feel the same._

_Respectfully yours,_

_Gellert_

_Again with the flattery_ , thought Albus. Music to his ears, indeed. Reading the second paragraph over twice, Aberforth’s words rang inside his head.  _He’s sucking up to you, you know._  Still, he decided to compose a lengthy enough response, knowing himself the joy of opening a letter to see passages upon passages written, and hoping to get a discussion going immediately.

_Dear Gellert,_

_Your aunt is a genius, and so is Nietzsche. I can hardly believe my own naivety at only coming to these revelations this year. I may have trimmed the arguments for the audience, however, since I know how very startling it is to discover at first. (And how easy it is to remain in the dark!) Being perfectly honest, it was difficult to hold myself back. I shall be far more candid with you tomorrow, if I see you (which I hope I do). There is much, much more I have to say on the matter, I assure you._

_Honestly, I think Aberforth would be sympathetic to our cause (he MUST, since he cares for Ariana so) if only we could open his eyes to the root CAUSE of the entire incident — rather that it is NOT just incidental but SYSTEMIC in its very nature. (Though, he naturally enjoys disagreeing with ME on every topic under the sun, so perhaps you would be the better candidate to convince him. IF he comes to like you, that is. (Though, again, he will naturally hate whatever I like, so we shall have to wait and see.))_

_My, I do hope you will excuse the rant! (And far too many parentheses (and parentheses within parentheses!)) It is most exciting to finally have someone to talk to about these matters. About everything._

_Tell me you are free tomorrow, so I may show you what we spoke of before!_

_Yours, etc._

_Albus_

_P.S. Almost forgot the entire point, but there really is no need to apologise for Ariana. She is upset by the slightest thing, so it’s debatable she even understood the conversation at all. I do think (hope?) she may grow to like you, as I do._

_P.P.S. The room at the front is Ab’s!!! I admit I may have stolen his window seat in order to wait out your arrival. Terribly embarrassing, but there really is so little to do around here. And I really was most excited to meet you._


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Dark magic,” mused Albus. He nodded to the grave. “So this is dark, is it?”
> 
> “It is not so much the dark that interest me, but the… pushing of boundaries.”
> 
> That brought a smile to Albus’ face. “And you certainly wouldn’t want me telling the Ministry that you’re over here… pushing boundaries.” 

_Albus,_

_By all means rant away! I am enraptured by your rants. And there is no need to be embarrassed, unless I am to be equally embarrassed, or more embarrassed, really. I confess this trip may have been largely a devising of my own in attempt to finally meet with you. (I believe you will not hate me to tell you this now.) You understand there is so much that cannot be said, or done, in letter (though your words at dinner have incited me so I could not possibly rest until I have discussed with you, so I shall certainly be doing my best!)_

_You will forgive my English deteriorates as I write, I cannot possibly keep up with you and retain my handle on the language at same time. I trust you will get the gist and not judge me too harshly! Not a word of my penmanship, either…_

_On the topic of the incident, I must disagree. Unless your brother is as prone to compassion as you are (which I doubt he is, you being as you are a most rare type of empath), he need not care who else is affected by these plights — for his own subjugation and that of his family is real enough. It is not, therefore, for lack of reason that he does not see truth, but for the indoctrination that has been set upon him since the earliest age, i.e. that these shackles are to keep us safe, these cages are to shield us from a world that would harm us, because by nature it fears us. When in reality, if by nature we should be feared… by nature, should we not be revered?_

…

The letters continued well into the night, until Albus awoke to his alarm with his head on his desk and his back and legs aching. The cool summer breeze blowing the curtains had knocked many of the letters onto the floor. The last one still sat unopened on the desk — it must have arrived after he’d already fallen asleep. Albus opened it and read it eagerly with his marmalade toast and tea. Halfway through preparing breakfast for the other two, he was summoning the other letters downstairs to reread as he worked.

Try as he might not to appear too eager — nor hope too hard that Gellert may  _really_  be his intellectual equal — in reality he knew he was already perfectly smitten with the boy.

It all just seemed far too good to be true.

As he shaved he wondered how Gellert did his hair in that half-held back way — Gellert, Gellert, Gellert, why was his head so full of nothing but Gellert? He then spent an inordinate amount of time glaring at himself in the mirror and wondering, possibly for the first time in almost eighteen years, if he himself were even the slightest bit comely. It needn’t have mattered, but it did.

Feeling both terribly excited and somewhat ill, he bounded over next door and knocked once before letting himself in.

He found Professor Bagshot in her study.

“Morning, Professor — is Gellert about?”

“That lout’s still in bed,” she said, flicking her wand at a quill taking fervent notes as she studied a massive old tome the size of the desk.

“Oh.” Albus tried not to let show on his face how his heart had sunk.

She glanced up again from over her spectacles. “You could go wake him, and blame it on me.”

“No, no, I couldn’t,” said Albus, laughing lightly and stepping back towards the door. “I’d hate to disturb him. Would you tell him to send an owl when he’s up? Or whenever he’s ready, I suppose. No rush…”

Afraid he was embarrassing himself, he threw up a wave and attempted to escape.

“Albus,” she called, and he turned back to see her looking up at him, wincing slightly.

“Yes?”

“Your stocking.”

He looked down the see his trouser leg was tucked into his striped sock. “Aha! That old thing…” He knelt down to fix it, feeling rather pink in the face.

“Those trousers are getting far too short, dear.”

“Not at all, Professor! This is simply the fashion.”

“Albus Dumbledore’s fashion, perhaps.”

“That’s exactly my meaning.”

She chuckled, shaking her head. “It’s good to see you in such high spirits again, Albus.”

Albus swallowed, giving a small nod. “Thank you, Professor. For him— for everything, really.”

She waved him off, and he bowed a little before rushing out.

After returning home, he stood a moment in his room, considering his article, his projects, and the ever-growing shopping list for his first trip to Diagon Alley since his mother’s passing. He’d been putting it off for numerous reasons: not least for whom he might run into, but also for not wanting to travel too far from home, and not knowing whether it was wisest to leave Ariana with Aberforth or not — and not having a clue about anything, really, from the price of a new kettle to where on earth his mother got the nice toilet paper that didn’t scratch. But Ariana had destroyed more than one linen set in her frazzled grief and Ab was in the middle of yet another growth spurt, so he couldn’t afford to wait much longer. He himself was considering a haircut. And again —  _again_  — there was Gellert in his mind, Gellert and his lovely hair, golden and wild, looking far older and more comfortable in his skin than Albus had ever felt in his life; Albus who still looked like the loose and scraggly schoolboy with long locks not cut since he was fourteen years old, and adults always telling him to fix his buttons and his socks.

Yes, perhaps just a trim, then, just to neaten himself up. Man of those house now, so he was, playing mother and father and brother and carer all at once, and not quite knowing who  _Albus_  was anymore.

Suddenly, he found he didn’t really want to cut his hair after all. He didn’t really want to do anything. Except perhaps grow a beard…

_If only Gellert would come distract me,_ he thought, and at once he realised he had no chance of concentrating for the rest of the day until that owl arrived. So instead he took to his desk to reread the letters for a second time, and began penning a very long reply.

It was well into the afternoon when the owl finally came. Albus scrabbled to read it, but found himself staring at the words, brow furrowed.

_I hope you are decent._

Then with a sharp CRACK, Gellert appeared, perched perfectly on the windowsill. Albus felt his head might pop off.

“What— get away from there!” he hissed, rushing forwards and dragging the boy away from the window. “W-what if someone heard you—  _saw_ you?”

Gellert raised his hand to his head. “My apologies, Albus, I was not thinking.” He opened his mouth again, but Albus clamped a hand over it, listening intently for his sister or brother to come running at the sound. He exhaled in relief when no one came, and let go of Gellert who had his eyebrows raised most curiously.

“Sorry,” said Albus, cringing back. His hand was terribly warm from Gellert’s skin — breath — mouth —  _Merlin!_  He clenched it, then shook it out. “We’re awfully timid of magic in this house, you see.”

“I should have known this — I am most sorry, Albus.”

Albus shook his head, not wishing to put it on Gellert. It wasn’t his fault, really, not knowing how things were around here. He so envied Gellert’s freedom — to be able to thoughtlessly flick his wand whenever he felt like it, to take his books outside to read and not draw funny looks from the lady down the street, to not balk at the slightest sound that might set his sister off. The only place he’d ever felt that freedom was Hogwarts, and now that he’d graduated he wasn’t sure when or if he’d ever feel it again. And it wasn’t just about Ariana — but living amongst Muggles in general. To have a wand, but no freedom to use it? If this was what being an adult meant, he did not like it at all.

“I told you to send me an owl,” he said, thumping Gellert’s arm.

“And I did,” replied Gellert, gesturing to the window with mock indignation. “It was yourself who never replied to my letter.”

“Only because  _your_  self never told me you were bloody nocturnal.” Gellert outright cackled at this, then covered his mouth with his hands and glanced at the walls, shooting Albus a guilty look. Albus grinned, almost awed, and felt a sudden desperate need to reach out and touch his friend’s arm once more. But he couldn’t — shouldn’t — so instead he wrung his hands and laughed at the floor. “Well, my reply’s there, though it’s more of an essay at this point.”

“I look forward to reading it, but first you are to show me to town, yes?”

“Yes,” said Albus, holding his hands up. “Just, one moment!” He reached automatically for his wand, then cursed and spun around to rush out of the room. He sprinted down the stairs, shouting for his siblings, and eventually found them at the end of the garden. He bid them frantic farewells — and  _no_ , he  _hadn’t_  been stood up after all,  _thank_  you very much, Abby — then raced back into the house and up the stairs, to find Gellert sitting on the windowsill again and reading his letter.

“I was correct about the windowpanes,” noted Gellert, bringing a hand up to finger the charmed net curtains that kept them hidden from their Muggle neighbours. He grinned at Albus. “My room is same as yours, then. We are both more back-of the-house kind of boys, are we not?”

Albus made a face as he tried to understand the meaning behind that phrase. “Sorry — is that an idiom, perhaps?”

Gellert waved his hand. “Just a bad joke. You are ready, yes?”

Brilliant as he was, it was only much later that Albus realised it may have been a euphemism.

Gellert continued reading his letter as they walked into the village, seemingly uninterested in the streets they passed by. Soon he was shaking his head and laughing.

“You are maniac, Albus.”

“ _I’m_  a maniac? I was passed out before your last letter even arrived. And, no, that doesn't mean you won.”

“Your arguments are emotional, even in writing. It is nice having voice to that emotion now.”

Albus blinked, speechless at that revelation. He'd been reading Gellert's letters in his accented voice all night, too, even after only knowing that voice a day. He hadn't realised until now.

And, Merlin’s beard, had they really only known each other a day? Albus felt as though they’d been friends their whole lives.

“And emotional arguments are the most convincing, after all,” Gellert continued. “Though that is not saying you have won just yet, either.”

“No, no,” said Albus, almost entirely for disagreement’s sake. “They are the most  _engaging_  perhaps, but not  _convincing_. Emotion should be reserved for arguments to followers. For preaching to the choir. However for nonbelievers and the unenlightened, emotion presents as fanatical. For those who sit on the fence, rationale is needed.”

“I see… We must manipulate the truth to win them over.”

“Manipulate the truth?” Albus repeated, taken aback.

Gellert paused. “Do I misuse this word, manipulate? I mean to use, to utilise.”

“Ah, yes — yes, of course. Manipulate would suggest, er, twisting the truth, you see. It implies deceit.”

“No, no, we need not lie, Albus. The truth is on our side, if only they could see it.”

“They will.” Albus paused, and a comfortable silence settled between them as they walked. He glanced at Gellert, who turned back to him with smiling eyes. Albus smiled back. “The question is, Gellert, do you want me to convince you or engage you?”

Gellert laughed, elbowing him. “Why, I am your choir, am I not?”

Albus didn’t think he’d ever appreciated the word  _swoon_  until he met Gellert Grindelwald.  _Oh, I'd worship you, Gellert_ , he found himself thinking. “And I yours.”

“Then by all means continue to engage me with your emotion.”

Albus sighed a little, feeling so unbearably happy and not quite knowing what to make of it. “We are each other’s devils as well. I am glad, though, that we do not agree on everything. Things would be terribly boring otherwise.”

Gellert nodded in staunch agreement, turning his face to look off down the street as they approached the village church. “There is no greater joy in life than good argument between friends.”

“My friend, I couldn’t agree more. Now — let me show you…”

“If I may,” said Gellert, stopping him with a hand on his arm, “I would wish to pay respects to your mother first.”

Albus blinked, opening and closing his mouth a few times. “O-of course,” he said quietly, glancing around and making his way instead to the newer end of the cemetery where Kendra Dumbledore’s grave lay.

They stood silently by the plot for a few minutes. Albus didn’t quite know what to do.

“You seem well,” said Gellert, glancing at him a little cautiously.

Albus didn’t know if Gellert had expected to meet a sobbing mess of a person, or a hysteric housewife, or a depressed, lifeless lump. That was what most people expected of grief, and although Albus may have been all three consecutively over the past month, it was not from grief — but from bitterness, boredom, and violent self-pity. Being aware of that did not make it feel any better. That was another thing about being an adult, he supposed.

“I’ve had plenty of time to come to terms with things,” he said, swallowing against a small tightness in his throat. “Too much time. Now all I find myself wondering is if she hated it here as much as I do.”

Gellert moved his mouth as if to speak, then sighed instead and turned back to the grave with a frown. “It is terribly unfair, what has happened to you… to your family, Albus.”

“There’s no such thing as fair.”

“Then it is unjust.”

Albus paused, considering that for a moment. “Yes,” he agreed quietly. Then he forced himself to smile, turning to his friend. “Please don’t pity me so much, Gellert, I just can’t stand it.”

Gellert met his gaze, no smile visible and a dark flame shining somewhere behind his eyes. “I do not pity you, Albus. I am most angered by this plight, this is all. And if you are not willing to be angry, I must be angered twice as much on your behalf.”

Albus blinked, in shock at the statement. He thought for a moment. “I  _am_  angry,” he admitted. “But it doesn’t do me any good.”

“I must disagree.” Kneeling, Gellert reached for his wand inside his jacket’s pocket, conjuring a bunch of flowers — beautiful, full, white Chrysanthemums — and lay them on the grave. Albus felt tears prick his eyes suddenly, and tried to blink them back but failed and had to bring his hand up to wipe them instead. Gellert stood once more, turning to Albus and gripping his elbow. Startled, Albus turned his head to meet his eyes, finding Gellert’s gaze pierce him and take his breath away. “This rage, this grief — it will fuel change, Albus. You will see.”

Albus swallowed, mouth very dry. He nodded. Gellert let him go, and Albus cleared his throat as he tried to re-orient himself. “Ah — of course!” He grabbed Gellert’s elbow this time, steering him back towards the church and the true object of the visit. This time, he saw the glint cross Gellert’s eyes when they landed upon the Peverell grave. He knelt again, and ran a hand across the old stone, tracing the marking Albus had told him about in his letters. When he stood again, his fists were clenched and he was almost quivering with brimmed excitement. Albus watched all of this closely, his own intrigue building.

“I think it may be my worst fear to be remembered,” said Gellert then. “For people to stand above my grave and say, here lies Gellert Grindelwald, greatest sorcerer in the world.”

Albus tightened his lips against a smile. “You would prefer to be forgotten?”

Gellert laughed ever so quietly. “Not at all. I do not wish to be remembered, Albus. I wish to be  _known_. Was, is, and always will be. The greatest sorcerer…”

_Then you would need to live forever_ , Albus was about to say, but then he noticed the look on Gellert’s face. It came upon him that this was not at all a fanciful conversation, that their standing here in the first place was not random or trivial. There was more going on than he knew, more than Gellert had told him.

“Why are you here, really?” asked Albus, narrowing his eyes.

Gellert stopped, and turned to him with the old winsome smile. “Why, I told you — it is to visit yourself.”

“Stop that.”

“What?”

“That thing you're doing. That manipulation.” Gellert opened his mouth to deny it, but Albus got there first. “Oh, come, Gellert, you've already admitted to doing it to Aberforth. Why wouldn't you be doing it to me?”

Gellert's face instantly dropped. “Because I am under no delusion that you are not intelligent enough to see through it.” He grinned a grin that Albus had not seen yet, which was more of a sneer, really, and an ugly one at that. Then he laughed a little and shrugged. “But, old habits, yes?”

Albus shook his head in open-mouthed awe at the sudden change of character. “Are you even writing a thesis?”

“It is less of the thesis and more… manifesto,” the boy replied. “I did tell mostly truth. I do think you will find it most interesting.”

“And what of this, then? This Hallows business?”

Gellert was smirking slightly, obviously considering how he wanted to respond. Albus felt awfully pleased with himself for getting to this point, for forcing this terribly smart boy to think so much before he spoke. But Albus was terribly smart, too. This kind of game, however, was new enough territory.

“Why don’t you want to tell me? Scared I’ll steal all the power and glory for myself?”

Gellert laughed. “My apologies, Albus, but it seems you are stuck in this place for few years more, at least? Are you not? I assure you, I do not worry for that. There is not much to be done in Godric’s Hollow with this power.”

Albus raised his brow, appreciating the honest response — even if it felt a lot like a kick to the gut. “Then why not tell me? I can help you better if I know.”

“How is it that I feel  _you_  are the one manipulating  _me_  now?” asked Gellert with a short laugh.

“Oh, I wouldn’t bother with that. I am under no delusions that you are not intelligent — or experienced — enough to see through it.”

Gellert grinned, a real one now. He glanced about, then took a step closer. “You know why I am expelled from Durmstrang, Albus?” he asked, his hand slipping into his coat as his eyes fixed straight on Albus. His hand was on his wand, Albus knew. Albus never took his out of the house, just in case, and for once in his life he realised how terribly foolish — naive — dangerous that was. But it was so _dangerous_ otherwise, as well — there really were the nastiest double standards at play with that Statute of Secrecy.

He took his own hands out of his pockets, showing himself weaponless. “I don’t.”

His voice a hushed fervour, Gellert took another step. “I was doing practice with dark magic. No, not practice. Experimentation.”

“I thought that sort of thing was allowed at Durmstrang.”

“Not that which I was doing.” Gellert looked at him fiercely. “You understand me, yes?”

Albus nodded. If Durmstrang thought it excessive, he could hardly imagine what Gellert had been up to. No — he  _couldn’t_  imagine. And the very fact that he couldn’t imagine was… annoying. He wanted to know more — wanted to catch up, so to speak. “Dark magic,” he mused. He nodded to the grave. “So this is dark, is it?”

“It is not so much the dark that interest me, but the… pushing of boundaries.”

That brought a smile to Albus’ face. “And you certainly wouldn’t want me telling the Ministry that you’re over here… pushing boundaries.”

Gellert’s fingers were twitching around the wand in his pocket now, watching Albus’ every move. He found it quite comical how untrusting and almost  _fearful_  Gellert was of him, powerless as he was in this cage of a village he called home. He could tattle on him, sure, but Gellert could also hex him right now and be done with it. He realised he did not put it past him. He also realised that he couldn’t have cared less.

“Would you teach me?” he asked. “What you learned in Durmstrang?”

Gellert almost dropped his wand he was so surprised.

Albus grinned. “Well, I’ll be needing something in return for helping you, won’t I? You  _do_  want my help — don’t you, Gellert?”

Gellert’s pale brow raised so very high then, and the next moment he threw his head back, laughing uproariously. Clapping his hands together, wand forgotten, he came straight up to Albus and shook him by the arms. Albus most graciously let himself be shook.

“You absolute  _snake_ ,” announced Gellert, briefly bringing both hands to Albus’ face to shake him some more, making Albus feel suddenly ecstatic, almost jittery, and totally unable to stop smiling. Gellert seemed to be suffering something similar, beaming at him before finally letting go with one last pat to his cheek. “And looking so innocent!”

“I’m an Englishman, aren’t I?” laughed Albus, heart beating fast. Feeling suddenly coy, he turned sideways to shove his shoulder into his friend. “And you’re no better, thank you very much.  _I am enraptured by your rants_ , no less.”

“This was no lie,” replied Gellert, holding his hand to his chest with sincerity. He quietened down a little, coming in close to smile at Albus and grip his arm. “I did much enjoy our correspondence. You see, it  _was_  you I came for, in some way. I could make much use of your skills, Albus.”

Albus laughed, and feeling like he’d been given more than enough permission by now, grasped Gellert’s arm in return. “Then use away. But let’s not play games with each other, Gellert. Just be yourself, and be with me, even if it’s just for the time being. We can research and write and make plans. But as equals — as friends. No manipulation.” He paused, letting go of his friend and looking down with a shrug. “There’s no need for it, anyway. You don’t need to win me over. I’m already won.” He started walking back home, glancing behind as Gellert did not move. “I told you, I’m bored out of my mind here. And I’m… interested. In you. In this.”

Gellert stared him down, those disparate eyes seeming to see right through him.

“So I’m all in. If you’ll have me, that is.”

“Oh, Albus Dumbledore,” replied Gellert, grinning widely and searching over Albus’ face with his fiendish eyes. “I will have you most gladly.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woohoo, first three chapters done! Please leave kudos and comments if you're enjoying, it really helps me a lot! Thanks a mil to everyone who has done so already, I love you all <3 I'll be taking a short break for the holidays and to prepare the next few chapters (they keep on getting longer haha), but will be back soon with the beginnings of Act 2, complete with dark magic and delusions of grandeur... and even darker desires... ;)
> 
> Thanks for reading :D


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just as Albus felt himself failing, Gellert deflected his last curse and hesitated a moment, before looking Albus directly in the eye with a trace of a smile and saying aloud,
> 
> “ _Imperio_.”
> 
> The boys duel, and Albus finds himself more entranced with Gellert by the day.

They spent the rest of the afternoon sitting on the floor of Gellert’s bedroom, deep in discussion and debate: Gellert impassioned and urgent as he brandished his aunt’s first edition copy of Beedle’s tales (runes and all), and Albus dubious at first but gradually being reeled in once he started reading the notes, the facts, the connections sparking between all the different stories of a  _Deathstick_. Passed from bearer to bearer, with bragging rights along the way, it was not too impossible to track — and Gellert had done his homework. It was Albus then who made the association between the cloak of invisibility that was passed down from father to son, and the Peverell family, locals to Godric’s Hollow for generations.

By that time, there was no turning back. He was hooked.

Once or twice he thought he caught Gellert watching him as they sat there scouring the nearest books for anything of promise — any idea where to begin besides a symbol and a name — with a most curious look, half cautious and half entranced.

Albus suspected that Gellert had not imagined for a million years that he would be sharing this secret with a boy he’d met merely a day ago, but then Gellert could not have known either that he would meet his match here in quaint little Godric’s Hollow. As he’d said himself, there was so much that could not be said nor done in letters.

The two did not stay up late with owls back and forth as they had done the night previous. Gellert claimed he had business to attend to for the rest of the evening, things to prepare, so instead Albus took home the boy’s notes on the Deathly Hallows, along with a few chosen local history books from the Bagshot library, and was stuck into them well close to dawn.

As promised, Gellert also lent him some of his most prized books on dark magic, with assurance of a more practical lesson to come. He said this with a smirk and a terrible glint in his eye, and Albus felt his heart did not stop hammering for a long while after.

Sleep had become expendable, second or third priority by now, and Albus found more often than not he awoke at his desk or in bed, fully clothed and surrounded by parchment, with the dinner Aberforth had prepared sitting untouched on the floor.

Then, one day, he awoke to mid-morning sunlight and the smell of burning.

He’d slept through the alarm.

Barely time to pull on his threadbare dressing gown — another item for the shopping list, he somehow managed to note in his hurry — he was in the kitchen within seconds, to find Ariana with her head almost  _inside_  the bloody oven. He lashed forward to yank her away and she screeched, falling back and banging her head on an open press door. She dropped the two charred pieces of toast in her hands and had just opened her mouth wide to scream, when Albus pointed his wand and thought,  _Silencio_.

Ariana must have  _howled_ , but nobody heard her. Trembling and sick to his stomach, Albus checked her head and her hands and breathed a shaky sigh of relief to find she had not been too seriously injured. It was awhile before he managed to get her to stop thrashing long enough to fill a basin of cold water and submerge her burned hands, dashing to the apothecary for a leaf of aloe vera to mix in with it. Then he rubbed her back, one ear trained to the ceiling, because Merlin knew Aberforth would murder him if any of that had woken him up.

Only when he was convinced she’d stopped blubbing did he lift the charm, hushing her gently, and hid his wand away inside his dressing gown once more.

“Ariana, you  _know_  you can’t do this,” he sighed, and immediately regretted it when she fisted her hands and pressed them roughly to her eye sockets. He grabbed them down before she could start hitting herself. “Stop —  _please_  — I’m sorry. I’m not mad. I’m not…”  _Mum_ , he was going to say, but that didn’t seem the wisest either. The most dismal feeling sank around him then, and it was all he could do not to drop his head into his hands. Ariana quavered, blinking up at him solemnly with damp eyes. He sighed again, patting her hair gently. “Just… wake me up next time, alright?”

Ariana nodded, though she hadn’t stopped pouting. Albus threw away the ruined toast and went about making breakfast, letting the girl help as best she could. He did as much as possible without magic, as always, because one could never guess how Ariana would respond to spellcasting: reactions ranging from timid curiosity to violent meltdown.

Speaking of which: “How did you turn the oven on, Ariana?”

Ariana twitched a little, glancing up at him. Then she raised her hand and snapped all her fingers towards the palm, and two hobs and the curtains instantly caught fire.

Albus cursed and had his wand back out in a second to quench them with water. He breathed, laughing a little and wiping his brow. “Maybe don’t… Well, better that I’m here, eh?”

“I’m sorry,” she muttered, dropping her head. Her fists were clenched again, the knuckles pale white.

About to put his wand away, Albus stopped instead and studied his sister with interest. He’d dabbled in wandless magic himself, and the theory was most interesting indeed. He had seen the worst of what Ariana could do — or rather what her magic could do, uncontrolled — but he couldn’t help but wonder if it wouldn’t be better, if it wouldn’t be  _freeing_ , if only she could learn how to control it.

“Have you been practising that?” he asked gently. “I won’t be mad.”

Ariana shook her head firmly, but couldn’t seem to meet his eyes.

Albus thought a moment. “Do you like magic, Ariana?”

She shook her head again, frowning deeply and pigtails swinging.

“I think I understand a little. Even though you don't like it, even though it's scary and dangerous… You just need to know what you’re capable of, isn't it? Because by knowing, you have power over it.” He leaned on the counter, chin in his hands, and looked down at her with a short laugh. “And you'd prefer not to say it's simply the morbid curiosity.”

Ariana blinked at him. Albus wrinkled his brow, thinking hard for a moment.

“If you wanted to practise,” he started slowly, “we can do it together, alright? I won’t let anything bad happen.”

Ariana’s eyes brightened, and she clutched his sleeve. “Today?”

“Oh… not today, I’m afraid. I’m heading to Diagon Alley.” He couldn’t help smiling a little. “I finally got Gellert to agree to come along.”

Ariana pursed her lips, dropping her chin to her chest. “I don’t like him,” she said. “I decided.”

“Oh,” Albus laughed. “Oh, Ariana, don’t be jealous.”

“He’s mean,” she said, and Albus stopped.

“But he’s so nice to you, isn’t he?”

“He’s  _mean_ ,” she insisted, and Albus found that he couldn’t exactly deny it. There were a lot of words to describe Gellert Grindelwald, but he knew by now that  _nice_  was not one of them. 

_Probably just a Slytherin_ , he thought. Not that there was anything wrong with that.

Albus didn’t linger long on the fact that the only thing that had convinced Gellert to come along that day was the promise of a good turn around Knockturn Alley. He wasn’t so prejudiced as that. And he was curious himself, admittedly. There was so much he wanted to learn, such an expanse of knowledge to seek, and so it was only natural that he must delve into the darker side of things every once in a while. That had not been possible at Hogwarts, but with Gellert many things seemed suddenly possible.

After the morning Ariana’d had, Albus wondered if he shouldn’t postpone the trip the Diagon Alley after all. But after the morning  _he’d_  had, he felt he needed — no,  _deserved_  — to get away for a little while. And Ariana liked it better with Aberforth anyway, didn’t she? That had always saddened Albus a little, isolated him… but now he realised that while his siblings had each other, he had Gellert. Blood ran thicker than water, as they said, and the waters of the womb certainly didn’t lend to these three siblings having anything in common. Family was family to Albus, duty and tradition, but that love was not comparable to this new friendship he had found for himself. And it hadn’t been easy to convince Gellert to join him into town, either. Albus refused to let this opportunity go to waste.

Even for heading off as soon as he’d finished breakfast, Albus didn’t get nearly as much shopping done as he’d hoped, because as usual he ended up with his nose stuck in a book in Flourish and Blott’s, when all he’d gone in for was something with a few more serious household spells. Because it couldn’t be  _that_  hard, surely, to keep their house in order, and shouldn’t take up nearly so much time every day. His time was far too valuable to waste cooking and cleaning and putting out small fires.

Gellert joined him for lunch at the Leaky Cauldron, arriving casually and predictably late by Floo powder. Albus did not fail to notice the heads that turned when Gellert emerged gracefully from the hearth, nor the eyes that trailed after him as he glanced around with his chin held high, picking up a menu and studying it, before Albus came tripping over to greet him. It thrilled Albus a little to be companion to this beautiful creature, the jealousy and curiosity thrown his way. He had never experienced anything like that before. And they were right, too, to stare and to covet. Because Gellert was a vision, and his brain wasn’t bad either.

Unimpressed by the drinks they’d ordered, Gellert had taken to the bar to speak directly with the barman about the beers they had on tap, when he was approached by two very pretty girls, and met them all smiles and flattery.

Ever since Albus’ little power play in the cemetery, an air of comfortability had settled around the two boys. They had identified each other as useful, as good as equals, and all of the cards (at least the ones Albus knew about) were on the table. Now that they had agreed to be themselves with each other, Gellert had not so much dropped his charming demeanour — that much, Albus grew to discover, was actually quite genuine — but he did not seem to feel the need to switch it on so very often around Albus anymore. Nor did he hold back with some of the more roguish aspects of his personality, the more wayward side he did not wish for everyone to see, veering at times into brashness, loudness, and argumentativeness. Albus did not mind that. In fact he relished the fact that the boy could be so open with him — could be so thoroughly himself — and Albus found similarly that perhaps his whole life he had never been quite wholly himself, either. Although he had not known it until he’d known Gellert. That is to say, he hadn’t known himself.

He also found more often he was rewarded for his boldness with a more intense gaze from Gellert, a wicked glint in the eye and an air of boisterous camaraderie that presented itself with relentless slagging, raucous laughter, and play fighting. Albus had never met a boy as clever as Gellert who was also so very wild, chaotic, and  _physical_. And he had never known such joy as being shoved around by a strong boy, and indeed retaliating where he could — fists thumping, palms slapping, fingers grasped up in shirts. Breathless laughter and bodies twisting — nails and hair and skin, skin, skin…

“You didn’t ask them to join us?” Albus asked, trying not to show how he seethed when Gellert returned from the bar.

Gellert looked around. “You wish I should ask?”

“No,” said Albus, almost too quickly.

Gellert scrutinised him with a shadow of a smile. Then he looked away, wrinkling his brow as he seemed to think. “I know myself, Albus, and I do well to remember that I am not here for the playing around. It is distraction only.”

It should not have surprised Albus to hear that Gellert had experience like that — so much experience that he  _knew_  it of himself, as if it were a defining feature, no less! — but he felt shocked nonetheless, and frightfully jealous of those experiences, something he’d never thought he cared about before, never given much thought to except on quiet, restless nights in his bedroom when his body demanded it. Perhaps he had never really allowed himself to put thought into it, though. But now he found himself envious of Gellert, and envious too of those he had been with, and for a wild moment Albus wondered if Gellert included  _him_  as one of those distractions. Because what he wouldn’t give to play around — be played around with — in summer in the countryside with a handsome foreigner, fleeting and momentous and life-altering as it was but, at the same time, inconsequential. Life would move on after, barely stopping for an instant, and yet it happened, they met, and the person if not the world would never be the same.

At least, that’s what his mother’s novels had always led him to believe.

Thinking about it, though, Albus supposed that that much had already happened. He told himself he should be satisfied with that, should not wish for more when he’d already received something better than he’d ever dared hope for. And, truly, it  _was_  a distraction. He’d never been so distracted in his life.

They did not return directly home by Floo powder, but to the wizard pub in Godric’s Hollow, and from there they set out into the outskirts of town. Gellert had told him that he had something of his own to show him this time. And, my, how Gellert’s words  _invigorated_  Albus sometimes, hinting at the very thing perhaps neither of them dared to admit. But,  _no_ , Albus told himself, it must have just been the accent. It was such a dulcet voice, after all, that anyone might mistake almost anything it said for seduction.

They walked some ways up into the hills outside of town, finally coming across an old and decrepit barn on the edge of a field being reclaimed by the woods.

“Welcome,” said Gellert, throwing his arms wide as he crossed the crumbling stone-piled wall, “to our secret hideout!”

“What are we hiding from?” laughed Albus.

Gellert glanced around with an amused smile. “Why, everything, of course.”

Albus grinned back, letting out another easy breath of laughter. He looked around briefly, then removed his wand from his pocket. “And what are we to do here?” he asked, pointing at the broken KEEP OUT sign and wordlessly casting  _Reparo_.

“For one thing—” There was a flash and Albus felt a white hot slap across his face. Blinking in shock, he turned to see Gellert let out a shout of laughter before turning on his heel and dashing into the barn.

Cursing, Albus gave chase. On the threshold he fired a tickling charm — sending the other boy to his knees and clutching his stomach with cachinnations — before the convulsing Gellert pointed his wand over his shoulder and smacked Albus with a  _Petrificus Totalus_. Albus froze up instantly, but undid the bind just before hitting the ground, and Gellert shakily rose back to his feet and turned, eyes streaming, to point his wand at Albus once more. In turn Albus stood, wand ready, realising with a thrill that they were about to duel. Although he didn’t think Gellert above foul play, somehow that just made it all the more exciting.

Albus only needed to blink to signal that he was ready, and then they duelled. Gellert was fast —  _fierce_  — and although Albus had an extensive artillery at his hands, whatever it was that Gellert was throwing at him was entirely  _new_ , and at times it was all he could do to block him. Albus focussed on his own expertise — transfiguration — summoning all manner of small beasts and sending them after him, his elemental conjurations becoming more monstrous as they went on, escalating to new heights, no holds barred, and stretching the very limits of his power. But Gellert disintegrated his constructions, quenched his halos of fire and evaporated the whirlpools into wind, then used them to blow him away. And with every spell of Gellert’s that landed, Albus found himself winded and whipped, until it occurred to him finally that Gellert was not only jinxing but  _hexing_  him. And Albus knew hexes — Bat-Bogey and the stinging one he’d received earlier were two — but these were different, somehow. These were dangerous. Jinxes and hexes were dark magic, after all, even if they were altogether as harmless as a bad knockabout behind the pub at three in the morning. And he could heal himself later on, surely, if he could just stand his ground long enough to catch his breath, keep up the fight, and never surrender…

Just as Albus felt himself failing, Gellert deflected his last curse and hesitated a moment, before looking Albus directly in the eye with a trace of a smile and saying aloud,

“ _Imperio_.”

With a sharp gasp, Albus threw his wand up to deflect it, making it just by a hair’s breath. Then he threw his hand up to yield, collapsing forward onto his knees and panting. For a moment it was all he could do just to kneel there in the dirt and gasp for air. When he glanced up again, Gellert looked like he was trying ever so hard not to gloat. Somehow the smirk was worse.

Albus glared at him, unsure how to feel about almost being  _Unforgivabled_.

“Oh, do not look like that, Albus. I knew you would deflect it.”

_Of course_ , thought Albus, although his gut was not as convinced. That’s why Gellert had said it aloud, so Albus would  _know_. So Albus could deflect it. He was just showing off, anyway, Albus decided rather than believed. He wouldn’t have done it, not  _really_.

“But you do not wish to know how it feels?” asked Gellert softly. His wand was still raised, and Albus glanced up again, still waiting for his heart to return to its normal pace and fearing he had no breath left to utter a shield if it came to it. Gellert’s expression was guarded, but curious.  _Eager_. “Sometimes I find it helps in the casting, to be first on other end.”

“Tell me, then,” said Albus, his voice trembling out of him. He gripped his wand a little tighter, rising to his feet, in case Gellert decided to show him instead. “Tell me how it feels.”

Chuckling a little, Gellert lowered his arm and looked thoughtfully upwards at some pigeons cooing in the rafters. “The feeling itself is… contenting. But then it is like watching yourself from inside your own skull. Perfectly aware but perfectly at ease.” His eyes dropped back to Albus’ face, shining in the darkening twilit barn. “You do not wish to try? An exercise in trust, perhaps?”

Albus rolled his wand in his hand a little, noticing how his palms were clammy and thick. “If anything, I think I should do you first.”

“But you do not know how to, Albus.”

One of the pigeons attacked the others, then came swooping down between them with furious beatings. Before he could think twice about it, Albus pointed his wand at it.

“ _Imperio_.”

He seemed to feel the bird’s spirit step aside as he took control. It was not nearly strong enough to resist him, did not even know how. And yet he found giving the instruction was a step beyond his comfort, and released it almost immediately. The pigeon settled on the floor and pecked at the dirt, none the wiser.

Gellert was watching him with narrowed eyes. “You are so very compassionate, Albus. Always thinking of others, what they are thinking — feeling — putting yourself in their shoes.” He strode over, coming to Albus’ side and putting a hand on his shoulder. “But that is a  _pigeon_  — it is not thinking of anything. It only knows reaction and stimulus. In fact, your instruction is probably better for it than whatever its tiny brain could come up with.”

Albus had closed his eyes at his friend’s touch, but opened them again and turned to meet his gaze. Gellert was standing so close, smiling at him, the hand that had struck so violently with wand in their duel now gentle and warm on his shoulder.

Albus looked back at the pigeon, brow wrinkling, and tried to unscramble his thoughts long enough to reply. “Does that mean, then, that to perform an Unforgivable curse on a fellow human, one must be entirely lacking in empathy?”

“Not entirely, I think,” said Gellert, as if this was something he had also considered himself. He thought a moment, lips pursing slightly. “One must simply believe that his reason for doing so is superior to the will and rights of the subject.”

For a moment Albus was about to ask,  _is that not the same thing?_  But then he thought about it, and supposed it wasn’t. They were talking about the blurriest of lines here; there were no absolutes, right or wrong, good or bad. He tore his gaze finally from the pigeon and looked behind at Gellert again. “And what kind of reason would that be?”

“Fortunately, I’ve never had to find out.”

It occurred to Albus that Gellert may have been lying to him still. He found that he was able to both believe and doubt Gellert on most everything, simultaneously, because that was just the kind of person he was. Truth and lies were relative in Gellert’s world: it was up to Albus whether or not he believed him. And if he chose not to settle on either, he could remain indefinitely in this comfortable space between closeness and distance, trust and mistrust, intimacy and enmity. Their eyes lingered a moment longer in their meeting, and then Gellert raised his other hand to slip around Albus’ wrist, pointing his wand once more.

“You wish to try again?”

Suppressing a smile, Albus flicked his wand and the pigeon flew to Gellert’s shoulder, defecating on him before flying back to the rafters.

Gellert’s groaned in disgust, gritting his teeth against a grin as he threw himself at Albus to give him a good bashing. Their shouts of laughter echoed in the barn, and Albus felt positively evil for initiating such a tussle on purpose just to get a little closer.

Before leaving they set up some cloaking charms on the barn — basic camouflage and noise control to start — then began their amble back to the village. Albus was glad, sometimes, for the inability to do magic so close to town, since it meant he could spend a little while longer with Gellert, strolling along at an easy pace and casually enjoying each other’s company.

Gellert, Albus realised, was watching him out of the corner of his eye as they walked. As soon as Albus caught him, Gellert smiled and threw his arm around him, tugging him tightly. “You are thinking too much, friend.”

Albus laughed a little, dropping his head and putting his arm around Gellert in return. “On the contrary, I think I’m thinking exactly the right amount.”

“And what is it which you are thinking?”

Albus paused a moment, stopping in the darkened woods to collect his thoughts. “In Hogwarts they always taught Defence Against the Dark Arts like good versus evil. But it isn’t really like that, is it? It’s more about… you know, psychology, philosophy, life and death and their limits.” He hesitated, swallowing slightly before looking sideways at his friend. “They also said that the Dark Arts themselves do damage to their users. Did you know that, Gellert? Like opium, they eat you alive from the inside and drive you mad.” He dropped his chin, looking down at his wand. “But, of course, there are opium users who know their limits. They have control of themselves, of their minds, over the drug. Not the other way around…”

Gellert was watching him closely, the arm around Albus’ shoulder so very present and warm. “Most beautifully put,” he murmured, squeezing him gently, and Albus withheld a shudder at the closeness of his person, the brush of breath along the skin of his neck and the sultry voice lulling through his core. “Power, of course, is so very dangerous in the wrong hands. This is true of any type of power.”

Neither one of them said it, but they each knew what the other was thinking.

_Perhaps_ ours _are the rights hands._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW, everyone, thank you all so much for your words of support and kindness, it makes me so happy to have such amazing readers! I feel things are still building right now, but it's gonna start heating up soon enough. I am so looking forward to getting there, but in the meantime there is still a bit of developing to do, I think. World domination, etc, we all know the drill. Anyway, I've pretty much got the rest sorted out in my head now, so hopefully will get a lot more written while I still have time off. I'm enjoying myself anyway, so I hope you enjoy reading it too :) As always, please drop a comment and let me know what you think!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We were meant to do this together, Albus. We are strongest together.”
> 
> Albus started to shake his head, but Gellert stepped up close to him again, suddenly grasping Albus’ hand in both of his. Albus started a little, as if electrified by the touch, and looked up at Gellert with his heart hammering behind his ribcage. 
> 
> “We have become so close, Albus, like brothers. _Twins_. I do not wish to be apart from you. I _cannot_ be.” Gellert gazed at him, imploring him with bright, brilliant eyes. His hands trembled as he clutched Albus’ tightly. “You feel this way, too?”
> 
> “Yes,” breathed Albus, bringing his second hand up to grasp Gellert’s. “Yes, Gellert, I do.”

Albus fell asleep that night, his whole body on fire, and dreamt of Gellert’s touch on every bruise and every welt. Wands were replaced by groping hands, incantations by sweet mutterings, forces of magic both light and dark by kisses, caresses, and smouldering body heat. Skin to skin — flesh to flesh — nerve to nerve they were seared, melded, conjoined. Tender and brutal, Gellert embraced him, enveloped him, set him alight — and Albus woke with a gasp the next morning, shaking, sweating, spilling… and clinging desperately onto sleep in the hopes that it might never end.

Albus couldn’t say he had ever been entirely unaware of the exact nature of his feelings for Gellert, but he had been able to hold it in the back of his mind until now, knowing and unknowing, as if to say it out loud were to break the spell. He had never been one to shy away from the darker corners of his own mind, but this was as much about his mind as it was his body, and all of that was disastrously new. But there was no use pretending any longer that his interest in Gellert could be sufficiently summed up by the word  _friendship_  — although it was, simultaneously, the most glorious friendship he’d ever experienced in his life.

As he began considering it openly, he found himself likening it to Ariana’s magic. It was something base and instinctive, a primal sense of one’s self and one’s relation to their surroundings. Like animals in the wild, it was terror and murder and survival. This too was the urge and yearning he felt for Gellert, something his body in its own right wanted — needed —  _demanded_. Like an animal or an infant, wanting to put his mouth on something to learn about it — to know it — not knowing if the goal was to taste or consume it. Mouths — lips — tongues — all with so many nerve endings, feeling so many sensations. And hands too, for holding, for grabbing — and fingers for sinking in, for finding all the corners. He needed to touch Gellert the same way he needed to touch himself as a younger boy — an agonising, desperate itch and fever and ecstatic alleviation all rushing above rhyme and reason to swallow up his mind and leave him nothing but a cock. But that too, he supposed, was besides the mouth the other most sensitive part of his body that he knew of, and what better parts to touch with than the parts that felt the most? It wanted contact and closeness and to be smothered with his love —  _by_  his love — as well as his whole body, as well as his whole self.

As with those things — primordial magic, and natural human instincts — there was nothing necessarily  _bad_  about it; it was diverting and troublesome, yes, but not exactly unnatural and therefore not exactly wrong. He had read enough of the Greeks to know that it was nothing more than the whim of society to decide exactly what was deemed immoral — what was not meant to be spoken of, not meant to be seen — because Merlin forbid the human race realised we were all just animals at the end of the day, and at the end of the day just wanted to fuck.

Merlin forbid some wanted to fuck other men, specifically.

But then, he reminded himself, it was also true that some humans were less like animals than others. Regardless of whom the desire was directed toward, it was the very overcoming of that carnal instinct which set them apart from the animals. As an intellectual, this made some amount sense to him. He need not be preoccupied with his body, since as an individual he was so much more guided by his mind. It was only the lower animals who obeyed their passions, after all. Wasn’t it Aristotle who’d said that? And he was not of that stratum, that was for sure. Neither was Gellert, either. They both had a higher purpose than that.

Weeks passed like that, in agony and bliss. It was such a terribly warm summer, and why was it that one always seemed to be in heat on those torrid summer days? Each morning he felt the lethargy of too little sleep drawing his head to the pillow, recollections of the previous night’s dreams still swelling in his subconscious. Each afternoon he lay around reading, writing, and waiting for Gellert to arise so they could work on their research, the sticky closeness of the air stirring him to arousal as his mind wandered to places he shouldn’t have let it. And each night he returned to his room with the ghost of the day’s casual touches and stolen glances spinning fantasies of kisses and carnal embraces. Always too exhausted to contain his body’s impulses, too weak-minded to coax himself out of his lecherous thoughts, Albus allowed it, assuming it was better to deal with himself in private that to have it spring upon him unannounced at some inconvenient time. And he did not intend to delve into the delusions, but they instead seemed to take on a life of their own and drown out what little rational thought he had left.

It was one particularly hot day that he was almost caught in the act. Even with the window thrown open he found his shirt heavy on his skin, so he had removed it before laying on his bed, hovering a book above him and flipping the pages lazily with his wand.

As time had gone on he’d taken to going over to the Bagshot’s in the afternoon and waking Gellert when either his chores or his patience were up, but today he hadn’t failed to notice the dull ache creeping upon him since waking, and knew he would succumb to it eventually. He was lying not five minutes before his member was at him, twinging for attention. He ignored it for a chapter, but it was most insistent.

Still reading, he trailed a hand down to rub at himself outside his breeches, feeling the heat rise and stiffen almost immediately. Biting his lip, he flicked his wand and the book dropped onto the bed beside him, where he then set his wand aside. He undid his buttons and lay his head back, letting his hand wander down below his underwear to grasp himself in hand. Only it was Gellert’s hand he was imagining, tanned fingers and calloused palms stroking him with strength and purpose — and Gellert’s smell around him, rich and fragrant like game and wine — and Gellert’s breath in his ear — lips in his hair — and Gellert’s  _cock_ … oh, Merlin, for who could have known that for a genius Albus could spend so many hours thinking about cock…

Then came a knock from outside the window, and Albus flipped himself onto his front, snatching up the book and burying his nose in it.

“Yoohoo, Albus?” called Gellert’s voice, and Albus had just enough time to glance down and make sure he was entirely within his trousers before his friend was climbing in the window.

Gellert had been grinning, but stopped when he saw Albus. “What were you doing?”

“Reading,” said Albus, hoping it was not obvious with just one word that he was short of breath. He was so very aware that he was shirtless, too, and flushed around the neck. Gellert’s eyes scanned him slightly before shrugging.

“If you were only reading you should have came for me.” Gellert pouted slightly, and turned to examine the bookshelves with interest.

Albus laughed a little. He wanted to pretend like perhaps his world didn’t  _actually_  revolve around Gellert Grindelwald, but realised it would only sound ridiculous coming out of his mouth.

“Ah, you are fan of the Greeks?”

Albus froze, then tried to sit up as casually as he could without revealing himself. “Oh — I’d bought them for the trip, actually. First stop was Greece. I fear I’ve been neglecting them, though, only started this one the other day.”

That was a lie. In fact, he’d finished the _Symposium_  the first free day of summer and was, in recent days, obsessively rediscovering it. But on the off chance Gellert could suspect  _why_ , he didn’t want to let on just how deeply he’d been sucked in.

“Oh, I highly recommend,” said Gellert, making Albus second guess his own lie. “Greece is most intriguing culture, is it not? I do prefer the reading, however. The place itself… well, I’m not sure what I was expecting.”

“Theatres of clever men shouting at each other and waxing philosophical all day long?”

Gellert glanced over at him, eyes dancing. “Something like this.”

Albus took pause, heart hammering. “Something like  _that_ , you mean?”

Gellert stopped, then rolled his eyes. “This, that, the two most useless words in the English language. I am always mixing them.”

Albus laughed, the nerves forcing it out louder. For a second he’d thought Gellert had meant this, as in him —  _them_  — two men, in a bedroom, one prostrated on the bed and no shirt on. Socratic, Platonic, oh so very  _Greek_  love. He had to admit it had certainly taken up a rather larger than he cared to admit portion of his own expectations — the literature really had been so devilishly fascinating.

Poor Elphias. That part might have gone over his head a bit.

“You are ready to work, yes?” asked Gellert, coming to the bed and extending his hand. Albus took it, positively appalled thinking how his own hand had been down his trousers not moments before, and stood up next to Gellert, a little too close, pausing a moment as their hands fell away from each other. He took a few seconds to look into the other boy’s face, close as it was, just because he couldn’t help himself.

Gellert took a small step back, and fear struck Albus that he was not being nearly so subtle as he’d hoped. But then Gellert’s eyes dropped from Albus’ face to his chest, cocking his head as they flicked lower still.

Smirking, Gellert’s gaze returned to Albus’ face. “You are missing button.”

Albus looked down on himself, and with a choked gasp remembered his undone breeches. He cleared his throat and exhaled slowly, managing to force the onslaught of sheer panic to the back of his mind. “Ah, so I am.” He leaned forward to examine himself, then turned quickly to the wardrobe. “I really must be getting rid of these, they’re always doing that.” He glanced back, smiling slightly. “It makes for such awkward situations.”

“Not awkward at all,” said Gellert kindly, observing him with those very sharp eyes. Albus forced himself to breathe steadily again. He turned his back and chose a new pair at random, hearing Gellert throw himself onto the bed.

How Albus had talked himself into getting  _more_  undressed, he could not explain. And was he going totally mad, or could he really sense those mismatched eyes boring into him as he removed his trousers and stepped into the fresh ones? Mad, yes, he must have been. There could be no chance — no chance at all — that Gellert would find any enjoyment in looking at his chicken legs. No, no, no — no chance at all.

Except to mock him, perhaps. Gellert was so terribly good at mocking.

Albus turned back around as he was putting his shirt on. “It’s hot again today — shall we work in the garden?”

Draped luxuriously on the bed, Gellert stared at him a moment longer, long enough that Albus was tempted to check his breeches again in case the second pair really did need mending after all.

“I would much like to see the sea,” said Gellert suddenly. “There are the nice beaches near?”

Albus blinked in surprise. He glanced at the door, uncertain. It was one thing, he thought, spending his evenings working next door, practising magic in their hideout, and saving up favours so that Aberforth might not complain so very loudly when begged to mind Ariana outside of their agreed hours. But more frequently Albus wasn’t getting home until very late in the night, and Aberforth had already threatened to take over the morning shift if Albus overslept one more time. But — then again — sand, shirtlessness, soaking wet Gellert? “Of course, y-yes, absolutely. You want to go?”

“Now, then?”

“Oh, now?” repeated Albus. Like usual, Ab had taken over minding Ariana at midday, but Albus did not often venture this far from home without a few days warning. “Well, I…”

Gellert sprung to his feet, picking up Albus’ book and coming up close to him to hand it over. “I may borrow some bathing suit?”

That was the nail in Albus’ coffin. His mouth was dry when he replied, “Y-yes, you may.”

Gellert flashed him a grin that made it instantly worth it, and Albus turned quickly and went to the desk. He scrawled a note for his siblings and sent it downstairs with his wand, then scrounged the back of his wardrobe for swimmers. Just as he found them he heard Aberforth stomping up the stairs, bellowing profanities, and Albus lunged for his wand, grabbing it and Gellert’s wrist and Apparating them both away.

They appeared behind a bathing shelter in a seaside town Albus remembered from his early childhood, back when their family circumstances where still altogether normal. Letting go of Gellert regretfully, he looked around and tried to get his bearings.

“This is a Muggle beach?” asked Gellert in a carefully neutral voice.

“Oh, yes, it’s integrated.” Albus was not sure he should apologise, but felt the compulsion nonetheless. Occasionally he felt something akin to shame with how accustomed he was to living amongst them — like a domesticated animal, prisoned and impotent, his very nature repressed. And Gellert was so…  _liberated_. It was liberating just being with him.

Gellert looked at him, shrugging slightly. Albus glanced around quickly, then took his friend’s arm and Apparated again. They came to not a distance away, on the cliffs of an island connected to the same beach by a spit of sand. Albus peered around with keen eyes for any Muggles, but they seemed to be entirely alone.

Gellert sighed a little. “I am sorry, Albus, I am simply uneasy when I cannot walk outside with my wand.”

Albus shook his head. “No, I understand. I am too used to it.”

He watched Gellert look around, secretly a little pleased that it meant they could be alone together. He half-wished he never had to look upon another person in his life besides Gellert.

“It’s a little shame, though,” laughed Albus. “There might have been girls for you to admire.”

Gellert glanced back at him, raising his eyes a little dubiously. Then his mouth tightened into a frown. “I do not know how you live like this. In the most formative years? I would have gone mad as Ariana already.”

Albus’ mouth fell open slightly, but he was speechless for once. He could only give Gellert the most withering look he could muster, then turned his eyes to the sky.

“Albus — please, I'm sorry. That was unkind. But you cannot see how this place stifles you as I do. One is at his best when he is free to be himself — this is what I have been saying, yes? He is at the highest potential. And you have so much of this, Albus, it pains me to see it so wasted.”

Albus sighed a little, running a hand down his face. He had been reading Gellert’s manifesto on and off between lulls in their research into the Hallows, and those chapters dedicated to the suppressed capability of Wizardkind had been a most agonising read indeed. Gellert’s writings seemed so often to speak directly to him: he was half-convinced Gellert might ask to use him as a case study in  _wasted potential_.

Gellert began climbing the rocks at the cliff face, leaping jauntily from stone to stone. Albus followed him, slightly less elegantly, to come to standing beside him and looking out into the bay. The folks on the beach below looked as small as ants to them, Muggle and Wizard alike.

“Sometimes I do think it’s rather funny,” said Albus, turning to his friend. “They hold so much power over us, and they don’t even know it. We, who hold so much power of our own.”

Gellert stared out at the water, hands resting on his hips. “It is different power. Ours is natural, it is in our very natures. Theirs is one which is taken through secrecy, and silencing, and ignorance.”

“But that is the fault of the Statue,” replied Albus. “How can one be held responsible for his own power if he does not know he possesses it?”

“He cannot. But he also cannot use that power responsibly.” Gellert jumped to a higher rock. “Either way, you are forgetting one thing: even without the Statute, Muggles will always hold the power over us. They, the protected class who can do no wrong. For as long as this is true, they will abuse it.” When Albus looked a little uncertain, Gellert came back to him. “Think about it this way: if Muggle were to attack us, and we to retaliate, it is considered worser the crime because it would be an abuse of our power. But if we instead do not retaliate but go to your Ministry for help, we would be ridiculed. For how could we, with our power, ever be victim to Muggle in first place? Therefore we can do nothing. Who is it then, who has the power over whom?”

Something seemed to click in Albus’ mind then. He had never believed that what his father had done was in the least bit right. It was vengeance, cold and cruel, and all the worse because the victims were mere children. But now that he was beginning to untangle the true nature of things, he could see it for what it truly was. There would have been no help for Ariana, for their family, from the Ministry in any scenario. Despite themselves being the victims, there would be no justice. In his rage his father had done what he had done, knowing he was the only person who could do anything at all. Albus thought it made some sort of sense now. Even if he may not have done it himself, even if he did not entirely agree, he was suddenly able to see a situation where violence and force might be the only way to right a wrong… and not only that, but to prevent future wrongs, as well. Because power certainly was not handed over willingly. Not without a fight.

Below the cliff, and after some exploring, they discovered an inlet with a small sandy beach, completely isolated from the surroundings and enclosed by twinkling blue sea on all sides. It felt to Albus like their own private paradise.

Once down, Albus conjured them some towels and threw himself down with his book. Gellert undid his shirt buttons and tugged it over his head, stomach and ribs stretching beautifully, then dropped it to the sand along with Albus’ jaw. He’d always thought Gellert had such beautiful clothes, but this was better — much better. In fact, this was quite possibly the best day of Albus’ young life.

He tried not to watch with heavy eyelids as Gellert bent over to remove his breeches and pull on the swimming trunks. He really did  _try_.

But, yes, most definitely the  _best_  day of his life.

Albus adjusted himself with his book in his lap, still totally unable to stop staring as Gellert began wading out into the shallows. Gellert bent his knees and splashed water on himself. There was silence for a moment.

“You never think of leaving?”

Albus swallowed thickly, eyes falling. “I think about it constantly.”

Gellert didn’t say anything to that, but put his hands on his hips and sighed, leaning back a little as he looked up into the sun. Albus watched him, so very full of longing, not only for the boy but for faraway places, for freedom and glory and the limits of power. But right now, he at least had this much: an afternoon in a secret place with just the two of them, himself and this beautiful boy with curled blonde hair and sallow skin glistening with salt water and sunlight. And he wondered at which point the look on Gellert’s face had transformed from that in the cemetery — the sneer as he told Albus he was stuck here, that he considered him no competition at all — to a solemn look and thinking, ever thinking, so very seriously on how he might take Albus with him. Not competing for, but sharing that power and glory. Because,  _oh_ , the things they could do together. The things they could be. Leaders. Lovers. Revolutionaries. The greatest sorcerers in the world.

Gellert shielded his eyes against the light for a moment, then glanced back around. “You are not coming in?”

“In a moment,” replied Albus, enjoying the view from the shade but not daring to approach it. The boy in front of him, bold as brass and eclipsing the sun, turned back around with a shrug and spread his arms to relish the warmth and the spray. Albus tried not to mind too much. He could watch him better from here in any case. Tall and strapping, all angular in shoulders and hips, with brushings of hairs flattened dark and wet to his legs and chest. And the shorts, those masterful shorts, that clung so perfectly to the tops of muscled thighs. And more hair, dipping down below the waist. And more skin there, too, and more places to cling to…

Albus did not need to remind himself what might be discovered if he got up, got wet, started a fight and felt that wet skin slipping over his palms. No, he was safer here on the beach. On the sand. With the book he wasn’t reading, and had no interest in reading, if only the other boy would never turn around so he might continue to stare unencumbered for eternity. He was almost disappointed when Gellert returned from swimming and threw himself down on the towel beside him, flicking him with droplets as he shook out his hair, because despite being closer and more within reach, he could not be studied so astutely from here.

They talked forever about everything and nothing, eyes scanning eyes, minds reading minds, and Albus’ wandering when he thought the other wasn’t looking. But then at one point Albus turned to find Gellert’s gaze trained on him —  _his_  chest,  _his_  body — and eyelids heavy. A tongue slipped out to wet the top lip, then the bottom, until finally the eyes flicked distractedly to Albus’ face.

“Hm?” the boy asked sleepily, and Albus could have sworn it was only a half-hearted attempt to cover it up. But — no, no, no, that was ridiculous! Albus turned away again, heartbeat ticking, heat flushing his face and chest and other places besides. He breathed through pursed lips, steady in and out. Easy does it. But how easy would it have been to turn back around and kiss him? To lunge forward, face to face, breath to breath, and kiss him? Mouth on mouth and skin on skin — to touch and to hold and to become whole with him, to become one. The beast with two backs, if it could still be called that the way Albus wanted it. But he was frozen, fearful, cowardly, and he had never done anything like that before, nor felt anything like this before, the urgency and desperation, driving him half mad now with this affection, this affliction.

He was above his impulses, that he must remember. But the thought of Gellert’s pulse was enough to give him pause.

Eventually enough time passed in that tormented state of uncertainty that it was suddenly too late. Sun was drifting behind clouds, shirts and trousers shifting back onto bodies and all that glorious, heavenly skin going to waste. Still, as always they lingered in each other’s company on their return home, choosing to take a stroll along the dunes instead of parting with their paradise so early.

As they walked in heavy silence a couple of children came running past them, laughing and playing. One of them bumped into Gellert, earning a friendly tousle from the older boy, and in the romp Gellert’s wand came loose from his pocket and fell onto the sand of the dune.

To Albus’ horror, it was the child who reached to pick it up first.

“Oho, careful with that,” said Gellert easily, leaving Albus blinking in shock.

“What is it?” asked the child, holding it aloft as the other children ran over to inspect.

Thinking fast, Albus reached for his own wand inside his sleeve, conjuring a deck of cards. Upon revealing it, the children’s eyes brightened and they gathered around as he performed a simple sleight of hand trick, letting the first child use the wand to tap the deck and ‘perform’ the magic. Albus’ hands shook as he did so, praying Gellert’s wand was more well-behaved than the boy himself. Gellert watched the scene from behind, saying nothing.

The children delighted at the ‘magic’, and Albus produced some flowers from his sleeve to trade for the wand. Once they all turned to leave, he breathed a sigh of relief. He looked back at Gellert, apologising shyly for touching his wand as he returned it.

Gellert’s paused briefly, then pointed his wand silently at the children’s retreating backs. They each slowed to a stop, glancing around somewhat confusedly, then remembered themselves and started laughing again, chasing each other over the dunes and disappearing from sight.

Albus felt a pit in his stomach he couldn’t quite place. He looked at Gellert, his brow creased. “Why did you do that?”

Gellert hesitated. “I had to, you know this.”

“But… they liked it, don’t you think? There was no harm done.”

“Albus…”

Albus shook his head, rubbing his neck as he turned away. “You know, I… I think Muggles really would love magic. If they just had a chance to. And the world could be so…”

The tone in Gellert’s voice was so terribly pitying when he replied. “Albus, you know more than anyone what harm even a Muggle child can do.”

“Yes, but… they weren’t going to…” Albus frowned and threw his hands up, turning back to Gellert. “I don’t understand. I thought you wanted this, too — for us to be free to use our magic, for us to be  _accepted_ …”

“And are you planning to do card trick for every Muggle child you meet, and hope next generation grows to love us? You are going to change the world, Albus, one child at a time?” Gellert cocked his head, looking at Albus with such concern in drawn up eyebrows. “And what happens, then, when one child does not like it? Because Muggles hate, and they teach their children to hate, and you will not change them all yourself. You cannot. You only put yourself at risk.” He came forward, standing close to Albus and gripping his upper arms urgently. “This is why we need… numbers, you understand? This is why we need organisation… allies… followers. Because if they will not accept us, we must  _make_  them accept us. We must take it —  _seize_  it.”

At that moment, a couple of voices shouted out from nearby and Gellert released him, stepping back quickly and looking around, only glancing back at Albus once he saw the coast was clear. Albus laughed a little, feeling nervous and strange for more reason than one. “Take… Seize… That’s all a bit extreme, Gellert.”

“This is the only way. This is what I believe.” Gellert paused a moment to breathe, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He swallowed, catching Albus’ gaze again with a cold fire behind his eyes, and took a single step closer. “A-and you and I, Albus… we could be the ones to do it. We could truly change the world.” His voice faltered, fading to an anxious whisper as his eyes searched Albus’ with a pained urgency. “You want this, yes?”

Albus found his own breathing was fast now. “I do, but… Gellert, you must know I can’t go with you.”

Gellert glanced around again, lips pursed and a muscle standing out in his jaw. Albus realised all at once that while of course he had seen Gellert impassioned and angry and heated in argument, he had never seen him quite so _agitated_ before. Despite everything, it was strangely soothing to see Gellert so affected by nothing more than the notion of losing him. Albus certainly felt just the same, if a little more resigned to the inevitability of Gellert’s leaving. Although as time went on, it was indeed becoming more and more difficult to bear.

With that thought, Albus swallowed thickly and asked the question he’d been putting off for almost a month now. “When was it that you said you were leaving?”

“I must stay with a guardian until I am of age…”

Albus’ face brightened. “Why, that’s a few months off still—”

“Being honest, Albus, I would sooner forge my papers and leave for the next Hallows site. I would have done so already, if not for…”

Albus’ eyes widened, and he quickly lowered them, choking on a lump in his throat. The last thing he wanted was to cage Gellert here, to hold him back from the greatness at his fingertips. He still had the choice to leave, where Albus did not. “I do not want to keep you.”

“I want to…” Gellert clenched his teeth and spat out a curse. “We were meant to do this together, Albus. We are strongest together.”

Albus started to shake his head, but Gellert stepped up close to him again, suddenly grasping Albus’ hand in both of his. Albus started a little, as if electrified by the touch, and looked up at Gellert with his heart hammering behind his ribcage.

“We have become so close, Albus, like brothers.  _Twins_. I do not wish to be apart from you. I cannot be.” Gellert gazed at him, imploring him with bright, brilliant eyes. His hands trembled as he clutched Albus’ tightly. “You feel this way, too?”

“Yes,” breathed Albus, bringing his second hand up to grasp Gellert’s. “Yes, Gellert, I do.”

Gellert laughed slightly in relief, bringing their hands up to his chest as he bent his head and sighed. Albus felt his stomach somersault at the gesture, wishing never to move from this spot for his entire life. Gellert’s hands with their long fingers seemed to mould to his and envelop him in warmth, connecting them from extremities to cores. And Albus held on desperately, drifting slightly closer as if magnetised by that touch and wishing to spread it to every inch of their skin.

Gellert looked up again and released one hand only to bring it to Albus’ cheek. Albus felt his breath stick in his throat, his heart tumbling over itself as he melted into the touch.

“Do not look so sad, my friend,” whispered Gellert. “We shall figure something out.”

Albus nodded, squeezing his eyes shut and leaning his face against Gellert’s hand. Breathing hard, he flickered his eyes open again to see Gellert looking down on him, a crinkle between his eyebrows.

Then Gellert grinned, losing all that lovely sincerity, and pinched Albus’ cheek. “Between two geniuses it should not be so hard!”

Albus laughed wetly, but mourned the loss of the closeness. For a moment, he had even dared hope that Gellert might kiss him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For it was _love_ , after all, and how had he not realised it sooner? Most vital to living, most essential to being, Albus _loved_ Gellert, with his whole identity; or rather, Gellert _was_ his identity, and not just a piece, not even a half — a summation of parts — but _all_ of it, inseparable from the whole. In and out, through and through; he was his love and his love was him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have never taken a philosophy class in my life just read a lot of wikipedia pages lol don’t @ me

“ _According to Greek mythology, humans were originally created with four arms, four legs and a head with two faces. Fearing their power, Zeus split them into two separate parts, condemning them to spend their lives in search of their other halves._ ” Gellert stopped reading, snorting loudly. “You are seriously reading this drivel, Albus?”

Albus, whose face had been growing warm, his mind suddenly racing, plummeted back to reality. “Drivel? That’s Plato you’re talking about.”

Gellert shook his head, a smarmy smile on his face as he tossed the book back onto the bed. Albus despised him in that moment. This pretentious, ignorant git thinking he was above philosophy, above  _love_?

Admittedly, Albus had not given much thought to the subject before this summer, before these past few days, even; but the  _Symposium_ ’s musings on the topic now instilled in him an entirely different emotion than it had when he’d read it at the beginning of summer. And when spoken aloud in Gellert’s lovely timber, something dreamy and distant had become flesh, blood,  _truth_. Man split in two parts, two lovers when reunited overcome with euphoria and wanting only to be together, united, and never to be apart from one another — and if offered by a God to be melted down and cast into one being, one soul, in life and death and eternity, then by Merlin they could think of nothing else they wanted more.

Albus couldn’t help but think it sounded awfully familiar. And Gellert was a fool not to recognise that what he’d confessed to Albus days ago on the dunes was not in some sense a declaration of that same wish. They could not be apart, that much was certain. If not sexual, if not romantic, at the very least it rose far beyond friendship. And, even then, was it really so normal for them to exchange glances and touches the way they did? He had certainly never had a friend brush his cheek with fingertips like that — nor witnessed it between boys at school — nor was it at all brotherly, as far as he was aware. Imagine, with Aberforth! As gentle and loving a touch as that? The idea was preposterous. But, then, perhaps it all came down to the difference in culture. And yet he could not help thinking of the Greeks.

Albus paused, considering with thumping heart and a worm in his belly how far he wanted to push this thing between them. “I think you’d be surprised,” he said finally. “You can borrow it, if you like.”

“I admit myself most singularly interested in the politics. You have read the  _Republic_ , at least?”

Albus scoffed. “Of course I’ve read the  _Republic_.”

Gellert hopped up from his resting spot on the bed, dancing between pillars of books to pick up a weathered copy from his desk. He came back to where Albus sat on the floor, and dropped the book on his head.

“Ow!”

“A much better use of your time,” said Gellert, standing over him with smirk that felt so much like taunting. “It is far too valuable to be wasting with the romance.”

The sting of that remark was difficult to keep off Albus’ face, but whether or not Gellert knew exactly the reason for his bitterness was unclear. Rubbing his head, Albus glared daggers at Gellert as the other boy went back to his desk and began cleaning his quill, staring distractedly out of the window with that familiar shine of inspiration glinting in his eye.

“It’s as much philosophy as the rest of it,” Albus went on stubbornly, picking the  _Symposium_  back up and flicking through it.

“But will it help us rebuild the  _world_ , Albus?”

_Perhaps not_ , he thought. _But perhaps our own._

As Gellert became engrossed in his writings, Albus found a moment to slip the book underneath the other boy’s pillow. Because maybe — just _maybe_  — if Gellert would give it a chance…

Once it was hidden away, Albus realised he had nothing left to read, and so he delved back into the politics. He had always enjoyed the Socratic dialogues, and it occurred to him that his and Gellert’s dialogues on almost any topic would make for a most entertaining and educating read. He hadn’t thought about his column proposal in weeks, but that seemed like just the idea he was waiting for.

“Is this how you imagine our world order, then?” asked Albus, looking up from the _Republic_ with a teasing smile. “The Guardians rule — the auxiliaries defend — and the rest provide food, craft, trade and the like?”

“All necessary roles, all very much needed,” said Gellert. He raised his head again from his scribblings, glancing at Albus coolly, and it dawned on him that Gellert was not joking in the slightest.

“And we are the Guardians.” It was not a question.

“The wisest should rule, should they not?”

“You never mentioned this,” said Albus, slightly awed. “Is this in your manifesto?”

Gellert shook his head, throwing a hand up in frustration. “I am working on this. I have set out why we must seek freedom, why we must rise up. But it is one thing to say things should be different and another to say  _this is how it should be_.”

“The wisest should rule,” repeated Albus wistfully. That particular fact certainly wasn’t true of the Ministry. “But — oh —  _but_  that would be oligarchy, which by the end of the blasted thing was deemed a failure.”

Gellert pursed his lips, scribbling his quill in the corners of his parchment before turning to give Albus his full attention. “Was it not Aristotle’s leaning, though, that  _aristocracy_  — not oligarchy — was one of the three good constitutions? It was still the best — the  _aristos_  — who should rule, was it not?”

“Yes, yes — because if the few are to rule the many — the few being Muggles, for example — they only have their own interests in mind.” Albus paused, shaking his head. “As would Wizards, I suppose, if we were solely in power.”

“But — Albus, tell me honestly — how many Muggles do you consider to being  _aristos_? Can you really say, that without magic and intellect, they could ever be anything above the lowest strata?”

“I would not know, but they should certainly be given the chance.” When Gellert looked dubious, Albus had to laugh. “We cannot presume there are  _none_.”

Gellert was on his feet next moment, waving his arms. “Of course we can, and indeed we must! Because even then, even given the opportunity, our system would be deemed corrupt when they inevitably fail or are not given equal seats, despite it only proving the natural order of things.”

“That’s… conjecture.”

Gellert paced, shaking his head, and scowling slightly as he always did when Albus accused him of assumptions. And so he started again from the top. “Man is his best when he is doing the work he is best at, Albus, and there is role and place for everyone in this world. I simply believe, as Aristotle did, that some are slave by nature. Muggles, all, fit this category.”

“ _Slaves?_ ” Albus repeated. “No — Merlin, Gellert, I understand you, but… Labourers, workers, you mean. You cannot say  _slaves_.”

Gellert sat on his desk, pushing his hair back from his face as he thought rather loudly. He sighed. “This is where I am needing of your help, Albus. It must be explained in the manner that anyone can see its truth — even Muggles. We need our Noble Lie.”

The Noble Lie, Albus remembered, was a myth that upon their creation, different elements were mixed in with the people of the different social classes. Gold for the highest, silver for the middling, and bronze for the lower. As it had been determined by the Gods, it would therefore be an offence to the Gods to do work or dwell upon ideals outside of one’s predetermined class. Really, it was simply a construct to prevent ambition pushing those of the lower strata up to the higher. Autocratic as it sounded, it was not really so terrible in its motivations. For the basic philosophy underlying the thing was exactly that which Gellert had been saying all this time: man is at his best when he is doing his proper work, the work he is best at and that which he is designed for. For people like themselves, it was learning, leading, ruling. For others, a simpler life was their fate.

Yet it was true that some truths were not meant to be known by the masses, lest they be misconstrued and seen as unfairness, or lest they become discontented by the state of reality and lose all sense of obligation and social cohesion. Order was arguably only achievable through the lies of politicians, through ideals and illusions — the Muggle royal family as one example, or the American dream as another — because in order to maintain and move forward, the people needed a purpose, and that purpose was never truth but fabrication.

Still, Albus could admit himself an idealist at heart. He couldn’t help but hope there was some way to make everyone happy all at once, and everyone in agreement, without the need for myths and lies. Yet even he and Gellert could not agree, so what hope had anyone else?

“ _A soul is just when reason rules_ ,” he sighed, glancing at his friend with a small smile. One thing he was certain of was that, idealised or otherwise, their place was with each other.

Gellert returned the smile so handsomely, with pure understanding and tenderness in his eyes. And then he was back on his point. “But they would lead such rich lives, you see, living their roles, under our rule. The  _aristos_  is by nature best and most excellent, and are by that very  _definition_  benevolent. We have the common good as our goal, if only they knew it.”

Albus continued the discussion, taking on the devil’s side when he ran out of arguments of his own. Not that he was entirely in agreement, either, only recognised that he had a lot to think about. But one thing he did know: without speaking of it, without it being said aloud, a change had come over the two of them. No longer were their discussions mere theory and reverie. Gellert, Albus realised, did not only speak of revolution as some hopeful fantasy — their proposed new world a castle in the sky — but indeed he intended to lead that revolt, to create that future himself. And Albus could not say he was not blown away by this brave, brilliant boy, who would not — could not — sit spoiling in his chains any longer, and intended to break out of them instead, freeing all of his kind along with him. It was so far removed from the reality that Albus had been living all these weeks, so much closer to dreams. But together, he realised, they could do it. Perhaps they were the only people who could.

_Gellert -_

_Your point about Wizard dominance being FOR THE MUGGLES' OWN GOOD — this, I think, is the crucial point. Yes, we have been given power and yes, that power gives us the right to rule, but it also gives us responsibilities over the ruled. We must stress this point, it will be the foundation stone upon which we build. Where we are opposed, as we surely will be, this must be the basis of all our counterarguments. We seize control FOR THE GREATER GOOD. And from this it follows that where we meet resistance, we must use only the force that is necessary and no more. (This was your mistake at Durmstrang! But I do not complain, because if you had not been expelled, we would never have met.)_

_Albus_

From Gellert’s fervour and Albus’ sensibility was conceived an idea, the foundations of a new world. And with it, a new purpose for them, and for Albus especially now that he was fully aligned. The Hallows remained a goal, a necessary one at that, but only as a means to an end. The new world would be their child after all, and why should they have to give it up? Rather, they could live forever in that utopia, lead forever as the great philosophers — the ancient Guardians — the Masters of Death.

Moreso, Albus began to think, his own burden would be lifted if they could at least find the stone. Even if it meant leaving home for a time… it would be better for them all, in the long run, wouldn’t it? It was for the greater good, after all.

“You are sure of this?”

They were back in the barn, all the floor between them, wands trained on each other’s hearts.

“Yes,” breathed Albus.

The low lights they’d conjured along the walls flickered in Gellert’s mismatched eyes. “Very sure?” he repeated quietly, eyes searching Albus’ with something like awe. “And you do not wish to be first?”

Albus’ breath was the only thing betraying his calm. But as Gellert had put it back in their first duel, what they were about to do was not necessarily an evil thing in and of itself: the curser must simply have reasons for cursing which he considered superior to the rights of his subject. And they had so many reasons for doing this: to practice with a willing target, to discover their limitations and each other’s, and not to mention the little thrill of breaking a law that would land them for life in Azkaban. So perhaps it was a bit of that morbid curiosity, after all. But it did not seem so immoral just to lob a few curses between friends. Especially these friends, who were of one mind on so many things, and whose wills were one as well. It seemed only natural to want to explore that boundary. Albus only wished they could explore other boundaries as well.

“I trust you,” he said, lowing his wand. Gellert watched him longer, and Albus gave him a small smile, almost breathless when he spoke again. “We want the same thing, don’t we?”

Gellert inhaled deeply, then took a step and kept walking until he was only a few feet from Albus. Their gazes remained locked the entire time, and when he finally pointed his wand it was mere inches from Albus’ chest.

“ _Imperio_ ,” he whispered.

Absolute euphoria overcame Albus, a tangible sense of every worry vanishing instantaneously from his head. And there was Gellert — beautiful, wonderful, tantalising Gellert — standing before him with the most atrocious grin spreading across his face. A burst of laughter escaped him, and immediately after, the most joyful, tender,  _ardent_  look, as one would gaze upon their child or their lover or their God.

Yes, things had shifted between them. Things would never be quite the same after that.

Albus felt compelled to smile, too, and so he did, widely and freely and feeling his eyes crinkle up as a delighted little laugh slipped out. But it was strange: he knew he wanted to smile, himself, but Gellert’s instruction was there as well, echoing in his mind like a friendly suggestion. He remembered, vaguely, that he was probably supposed to try and shake the curse off. But why would he want to do such a thing? It was such a sublime feeling, after all, and so very humbling. Like  _love_ , he thought, just exactly like love. Because, of course, he would do anything for his love, anything at all. And, like this, his love could have him however he liked.

A little ‘ _oh’_  escaped him when Gellert lifted the curse, feeling the weight of the world fall back around his shoulders ounce by ounce and his spirit dampen like a summer storm. Then he found himself flushing hot at the thoughts that had come over him while under the spell, his heart racing with panic before he reminded himself that Gellert could not have read his mind, only controlled him. And yet he felt wrung out as if Gellert’s whole being had slipped inside of him, and a little startled at how it felt so much like becoming whole.

“You didn’t even do anything,” he said, glancing up at Gellert with a timid smile.

Gellert was holding his wand tenderly in both hands, his eyes slightly wide as he beheld his friend. “I could not think of anything.”

_But to see me smile?_  thought Albus, heart beating very fast. And, frantically, he longed to ask,  _my friend, did you feel it, too? Did you feel our separate selves mingle and marry, our souls blend into one?_

_And if you did, did it not feel so very right?_

“Your turn,” said Gellert, raising his brow briefly and lowering his wand. He really had the most curious look on his face, his eyes fervently searching Albus’ face. Albus realised at once that Gellert, too, had no intention of shaking him off. It was an exercise in trust, after all. So Albus lifted his wand and spoke the curse, and a chill ran up his flesh as he watched the light leave Gellert’s eyes. He had a whole life in his hand, he realised, a whole mind at his fingertips, and it was so much more terrifying than he ever could have imagined. Because he could do  _anything_  — make Gellert do  _anything_  — and there was so,  _so_  much that he wanted to do.

Gellert took a step forward and Albus gasped, dropping his wand with a clatter. Gellert froze, blinking a little fast, and opened his mouth.

“D-did I do that?” asked Albus first, fighting for breath.

“No, I… I broke out of it.”

Albus brought a hand to his mouth, trembling like a leaf. Gellert looked uncertainly at him, then bent to pick up Albus’ wand.

“You are alright?” he asked, eyes full of concern as he handed it over. When his hand brushed over Albus’ it was cold and shocked Albus to his senses, his skin flaring up at the touch.

“Yes, I’m… I’m fine.” He made a few exhalations, then heaved a great sigh and laughed shakily. “It’s a most peculiar feeling, isn’t it?”

Gellert eyed him worriedly for a moment, then with sudden purpose took one step closer and threw his arms around him.

Albus gasped again, closing his eyes instantly and sinking into the embrace, his arms reaching up and slipping around Gellert’s middle as the other boy squeezed him tightly. And it was indescribable, that embrace. Like coming home — no, like  _finding_  home for the very first time. His whole body was alight and he felt almost faint, but his heart beat brightly forth from his chest and he grinned blindly as he pressed his face into Gellert’s shoulder. He felt Gellert’s broad chest swell on an inhale and then buckle with sudden laughter. Gellert grabbed him around the waist and lifted him off his feet, and Albus found himself giggling too as he was spun around like a ragdoll. Gleeful, giddy, they began to fight and raced back home like schoolboys, whooping and shouting in the dark night and falling over each other in sheer delight. They collapsed into Gellert’s room, laughing and talking about their plans, their politics, the powers they would have. And already it seemed like they had it. They had each other, after all.

Finally, far later than he usually stayed, Albus declared he simply must return home. And even then, after countless more distractions and delays, it was long before he found himself at the door. And Gellert, realising he was serious this time, turned wholly in his chair, one hand resting on the back as if ready to spring up at any moment, and the other stretching out in Albus' direction with the palm up as if offering it to be held.

“ _Must_ you leave?” he groaned, eyebrows creased in the middle and whole body leaning out of his chair as if the hand reaching for his friend was the only thing keeping him aloft.

Albus walked halfway back, taking the hand in both of his and dying to bring it up to kiss. Instead he brought it to his chest, as Gellert had done on the dunes, and felt as though each of the tangled fingers could have belonged to any or all of them. “You know I must.”

Gellert closed his hand on Albus’ for a moment, then slipped it back and returned to facing his desk with a heavy sigh. “Then I will write you letters until your return,” he announced, throwing back the most handsome smile in his artillery. “Or until collapsing from sleep, whichever comes first.”

Albus couldn't help the grin that dashed across his face, unable to hide his joy at being so attended to, so doted upon.

“Promise to reply first thing tomorrow.”

“I promise.”

Gellert went back to his writing, and Albus turned reluctantly to leave. But on the way out his eye was caught by the book sitting on Gellert’s bedside table: the same text he had slipped under Gellert’s pillow the day before, the book about love and lovers and souls split in two, now with a small scrap of parchment sticking out of the top of it as a book marker. It stopped him in his tracks and he stood a moment at the door, as all the earth’s plates seemed to slot into place with tremors and crashings and great eruptions, and then everything fell silent and still.

With a sudden surge of terror he rushed back to Gellert's chair, throwing his arms around his chest and half collapsing on top of him. Gellert stifled a shout in surprise, lurching forward.

“You know I wish I could stay, too?” Albus whispered, dropping his head to Gellert's shoulder and shutting his eyes tight.

Gellert gave pause, then with agonising deliberation lifted his hand and rested it tentatively on Albus’ head. “I know this,” he replied, fingers running through Albus’ hair and then gripping slightly, making his whole body shudder.

Albus knew what he wanted to say.  _My one, my dear, my darling. I’d stay with you forever._

Instead he clutched him tighter, and Gellert turned his face slightly, his cheek rubbing against Albus’ hair. Albus almost groaned aloud, and for his own sanity released him again. Gellert spun in his chair as Albus backed up towards the door, and they looked each other straight in the eye with scared faces, chests heaving. Something like a smile, but not quite sure, and so very full of terror. Something like absolute clarity — understanding —  _comprehension_ — for the very first time, gazing at each other with unguarded expressions saying, I want you — I need you — I just adore you.

Albus realised all at once that it wasn’t the first time at all — it was the very look Gellert had thrown his way on their first meeting, as Albus stood in this same spot the doorway.

_I’d devour you right now, if you’d let me._

And, oh, Albus  _ached_  to let him. But it was so overwhelming a feeling, and he couldn’t imagine taking another step further, his spontaneity all dried up and exhaustion replacing it.

So for today, he decided, it was enough just to know. He should never have doubted, really, for how could such a feeling be anything but mutual? That was the whole glory of it, that it could not be felt in isolation. And that was why it had felt so very right to curse each other, to impose their will: because that same will was exactly what had bound them together all along, and in that moment had briefly, blissfully reunited them after an eternity of separation.

Twins, Gellert had called them, but it was more than that and all. Blood was what was shared between brothers, but what they shared was  _souls_  — or, rather, one soul, split in two, just as the myth had foretold it. For it was  _love_ , after all, and how had he not realised it sooner? Most vital to living, most essential to being, Albus  _loved_  Gellert, with his whole identity; or rather, Gellert  _was_  his identity, and not just a piece, not even a half — a summation of parts — but  _all_  of it, inseparable from the whole. In and out, through and through; he was his love and his love was him.

And so it followed that all that terrible longing and the aching of his body was nothing more than the urgent need to be reunited with his lover — with himself — and that to fulfil that ancient need was not hedonistic at all but a virtuous, noble act. There was nothing about their love that should be repressed and nothing to be ashamed of. This divine love, which encompassed all other types as well:  _Philia_ ,  _Agape_ , and  _Eros_ , too.

If lust was for the lesser beasts, then love —  _love_ , of course, was for the highest.

It was the same, he believed, as what they’d been speaking of all this time. People feared what they didn’t like, what they didn’t understand, and they preferred to shut it away and pretend it didn’t exist, and go as far as to murder those who went against them, those who were open about themselves and who they were. But Albus was proud to have magic and he was proud to love Gellert. And he’d be damned if he didn’t very well do something about it already.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Love only exists between persons of the same nature._
> 
> Of all the great and powerful ideas among those words, not a single sentence had moved Albus as this. Because this felt as though it was written just for him.

The next day, Gellert had a new chapter of his manifesto for Albus to proofread, on the topic of Muggle-Wizard relationships. They sat in Professor Bagshot’s garden together in the early afternoon, knees knocking under the small patio table and creaking the rusty chairs with their weight. Gellert was gobbling down his very late breakfast and Albus watched him, unabashed and enamoured, in small breaks between his reading.

It had been difficult to imagine how they might act the next time they saw each other after what transpired between them last night, but apparently it was entirely ordinary, and everyday, as if nothing had changed at all. Even though everything had. And Albus had not woken up to a torrent of letters from Gellert, as promised, but he imagined that Gellert had been far too distracted, as Albus had been all night, to get any work done at all. Not after that _look_ last night: that look that felt so much like fucking. 

But here was a new chapter, ready and waiting, and on the topic of _love_ no less. Or rather, by Gellert’s claims, the lack of it: because it was Gellert’s belief that Muggles were of lower intelligence than Wizards and thus were not suited to meaningful relationships with them. It was so very like Gellert to take this lovely feeling between themselves and twist it to fit his doctrine, as if their love was anything remotely average or ordinary or to be compared to that of run of the mill lovers, both magical or otherwise. Not only did Albus disagree with his premise, but he found the view intolerably extreme, and was concerned, too, that this had little to do with the structure of their new world order, and would instead appear only as hateful. It was not vital, he thought, and far too much of a risk. He would have preferred to drop the issue entirely.

And, yet, this chapter was by far his favourite that Gellert had ever written.

“ _Albus_ — my friend, would you stop making that face when you’re reading my paper.”

“Sorry,” laughed Albus, setting down the parchment and tipping his head back. He rubbed between his eyes. “I keep getting stuck at this part.”

“Which part?” Gellert stood and stepped around the table, leaning with one hand on the back of Albus’ chair. 

Albus sat up quickly, swaying out of the contact and then surrendering to it, sliding into the space underneath Gellert’s arm and feeling so very at home there. “This bit,” he said, with heart beating fast. “ _Love only exists between persons of the same nature._ ”

“What is wrong with this?”

“To speak of love…” Albus peered up at Gellert’s face, unable to stop himself smiling. “Well, it sounds too much like rhetoric.”

“Rhetoric—!” Gellert exclaimed, but stopped to think it over, grumbling as he picked up the paper and straightened up to reread his own writings. Albus lounged back in his seat, watching his love concentrate with his hand covering the bottom half of his face, and feeling terribly pleased with himself for how he’d gotten his revenge for that _drivel_ comment, in the end.

Gellert shifted his other hand to lean heavily on Albus’ shoulder.

“This is obvious, no? Man cannot love a person that is not of same intellectual, emotional, and spiritual capacity as himself. This follows from previous paragraphs.” Gellert squinted, and looked down at Albus for confirmation.

Albus hummed noncommittally, his insides buzzing. Gellert squeezed his shoulder painfully as punishment and Albus squirmed to escape the grip. They sneered at each other as Gellert took his seat opposite him again.

There was a pause before Albus decided to keep arguing. “I mean, you speak of nature — but what of man and woman? They are not of the same nature, are they?”

“ _Man and woman?_ Albus — you compare man and woman to Muggle and Wizard?”

“No, no, you know what I mean. But you speak of things like love and nature — it’s just _vague_ , Gellert. It’s too hard to qualify. It certainly has no place in a political document.”

Suddenly flustered, angry, Gellert shook his head. “It is obvious I am speaking of magical ability. I do not see the issue.”

Albus bit his lip and took up the papers again. He adored those words, would not change a single one. He could read them over and over again, the frantic cursive letters of his companion, handwriting as wild and changing as the boy himself. Large, where his hand could barely keep up with his mind and the tiniest, tidiest blocks where he inked down some perfect, pre-meditated thought. Words crossed out and replaced with convictions — motifs and movements sharply underlined. Words he’d been reading everyday for weeks now and transcribing into his own neat loops, reiterating the passion and ideals they shared.

_Love only exists between persons of the same nature._

Of all the great and powerful ideas among those words, not a single sentence had moved him as this. Because this felt as though it was written just for him.

“Perhaps the translation is off.”

“No,” said Albus. “It’s perfect.” 

Gellert gazed at him, one eyebrow cocked. 

Albus smiled and tossed the manuscript back on the table. “It’s your stance I don’t agree with. I simply cannot get behind that American rule.”

Gellert laughed loudly. “You wish to marry Muggle, Albus? There is something you’re not telling me, yes?”

Albus chuckled in response, relishing the private joke with a soaring heart. “I only believe that I should be free to choose.”

“You care so little for your bloodline as that?”

“For love…” replied Albus, eyes softly gazing into his companion’s face. “To hell with my bloodline, if it is for love.”

Gellert scoffed a little, but leaned forward, smiling all the same. “But — this is my point, you see? It would not be love at all, between a Muggle and Wizard. It would be like man loving a pig.”

“Hyperbole, please.” Albus tipped his head sideways, growing weary of his friend always missing the _point_. “You really don’t sympathise with them at all, do you?”

“Sympathise? Why would I?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I feel some sympathy with those who are not allowed to love freely.” Gellert’s gaze became fixed on the table before his eyes roamed up to take in Albus’ face. Albus placed his hands on his stomach and sighed gently, staring into the back of the garden. “I can only _imagine_ what it’s like to be in love and for someone to tell me it is wrong, that it cannot be, that it is somehow barbaric and damaging to both society and myself. And to my love. I can only _imagine_ what it’s like not having the freedom to walk hand in hand with my love, or marry them, or kiss them in the street.”

There was a long pause. Then, seriously, “What are you talking about, Albus?”

“I think you know.”

Albus braved a glance up, and Gellert stared him down, challenge and warning glinting equally in his eyes. Albus paused, then with fervour leaping out of his chest he reached for Gellert’s hand. Gellert snatched his back immediately, and Albus felt as though his heart had been plunged into icy water.

Taking a few shuddering breaths, Gellert looked around quickly, although they were totally alone in the garden, and then looked back at Albus with his mouth pressed tightly closed. 

“Have you gone mad?” he hissed. “We cannot speak of it here.”

Albus widened his eyes, then immediately rose to his feet. Gellert started to protest but Albus was already walking back into the house and out the front door. Gellert scrambled after him, grabbing at his elbow, but Albus, single-minded and a little sick, walked until they reached the hills outside of town, then grabbed Gellert’s hand and Apparated them away.

They landed in the little solitary beach from before with a loud crack, Albus not having the wherewithal to do so quietly. Although it was no longer sunny as it had been in Godric’s Hollow and a little drizzle seemed to be swelling in the sky, Gellert’s hand was sticky in his, and the other boy let go somewhat reluctantly.

“Is this better?” asked Albus.

“I — I did not mean—“ Gellert clenched his teeth. “We should not speak of it at all, Albus.”

Albus paused a moment, taken aback by that statement. He was not so much upset by it as he was confused. Because, of course, it was not a rejection, was it? It was not _no, Albus, you are mistaken_ , or _you’re disgusting, stay away from me_ , or even _I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about and I don’t want to know, either_. It was, quite simply, _we should not speak of it at all_. Which was about as much of an affirmation as not, as far as Albus was concerned. 

So he did not despair yet, only raised an eyebrow. “Because you and I never speak of unspoken things.”

“This is different,” said Gellert sternly.

Albus glanced around, making sure they were totally alone and safe from prying eyes. Then he stepped forward and tried to take Gellert’s hands again. “I know you’ve been reading that book—”

“I have not!” cried Gellert. “And I have no interest in reading it! You must get a grip on yourself, Albus—”

“I can’t!” insisted Albus. “And I don’t want to either.” He swallowed his heart, and continued determinedly. “I—I know you feel the same, Gellert. I’ve seen how you’ve been looking at me. A-and last night…” 

Gellert inhaled sharply, glancing around, but he could not seem to deny it. He wrestled with his words for a moment. “You are… dear to me, yes. But believe me this, Albus, it is not worth to ruin this partnership for the fleeting pleasure.”

“Fleeting? It is not _fleeting_ ,” laughed Albus, heart beating so painfully as the words seemed to force their way up his throat like bile. “I _love_ you, Gellert, don’t you see? We’re in _love_ with each other.”

“ _Love_ —” scoffed Gellert, and laughed so cruelly then. And he was so horribly ugly when he laughed like that. But seeing the look on Albus’ face, he stopped quickly, pressing his mouth into a grimace and clenching his fists. “No, it’s — this is all distraction — we cannot be sidetracked from our cause—”

“Oh, can you SHUT UP about the cause for one bloody minute?” shouted Albus, his throat tight with tears. “I’m telling you I’m in love with you, damnit!”

“I cannot — this is our _life_ , Albus, this subjugation branded to our very _souls_ —”

“And our love is not?” Albus stopped in his tracks, gasping for breath. As Gellert glared at him Albus approached him, standing directly in front of him and grasping his arm. “Gellert, my love for you is as much a part of me as my magic is. In fact, I would sooner—”

“Don’t—”

Albus took a shaky breath, considering the weight of his words. “I would sooner part with my magic than be apart from you.”

Gellert trembled whole-bodily, his face contorted like he might be sick. He couldn’t meet Albus’ eyes, but could not seem to shake him off either. 

“Not that you’d have me that way.” Albus wanted to laugh, but couldn’t bring himself to even the most pitiful of smiles. Finally he looked down, feeling the load of all that had been said settle into his stomach like a brick. Crushed with it, and yet he didn’t _understand_. Why couldn’t Gellert understand that this was love, splendid love, and that they need not hold it in any longer? For, still, at no point did he declare that the feeling was not mutual: only that it was not really love or something, or not worth the distraction, and what kind of weak arguments were those, anyway, when opposed to love? 

Eventually Gellert sighed, shoulders falling. “I knew we should not start debating…”

“Debating? You call this a debate, Gellert, as I bare to you my soul?”

“As you do in all our debates, Albus. That is why you are so good at it.” Gellert grew silent, extricating himself from Albus’ arms and turning away. He kicked off his shoes and socks and stepped onto the soft sand where the tide came washing in over his feet. He placed his hands on his hips and sighed, his neck bent low as if he wished to dive under.

Albus stared at his back, his heart lifting slightly. “Does that mean I’ve won?”

“No. It is a stalemate. It will always be a stalemate.”

Albus took off his own shoes then, and threw them at Gellert. Gellert turned to him, arms splayed and brows knitted indignantly. Albus then picked up Gellert’s shoes and threw them, too. “Stop being stubborn.”

Gellert made a pained face, picking up Albus’ shoes from the water and drying them with his wand. As he came back to hand them over, he kept their hands together and met Albus’ eyes urgently. “Albus, let me explain you this. We would to be the Guardians, yes? And as Socrates put it, the Guardians are not to pursue their personal happinesses. We have only our duties, you understand, to the Republic. We must not be—”

“Distracted, yes, I see your logic,” snapped Albus. “Although I still think it’s a load of bull.” 

Truth be told, he saw the logic, but did not think the logic need have applied to _them_. Love was not logical, and he did not think Gellert the type to deny himself any sort of pleasure. 

With horror, it struck him that perhaps it had only been a manipulation all along. Gellert had seen the way Albus adored him, and gave just enough affection in return to keep him strung along. But — but if so, then why was he holding back now? No — ruefully, he knew Gellert capable of almost anything for his blasted cause. And it dawned on him, then, that Gellert never needed to manipulate him anyway. Albus had been head over heels for him from the start. He’d told him as much, back then in the cemetery. So, no, it couldn’t be that either. What’s more, he was still so _certain_ he’d seen Gellert eyeing him on the beach that day, and not to mention last night… 

Thinking, ever thinking, he turned back to Gellert with narrowed eyes.

“ _We are more back-of-the-house kind of boys_ ,” he said slowly, repeating Gellert’s words from that second day after their meeting. 

Gellert closed his eyes and wiped a hand down his face, groaning quietly.

“You… you were keen then, weren’t you?” asked Albus in awe. “I’m understanding it, right, aren’t I? You were keen right from the start, if only I hadn’t been so naïve.”

“Albus, please…”

“So, what happened? At which point, exactly, did it become a distraction?”

Gellert shook his head, refusing to answer, and scowling as he turned to look at the sea instead.

“You didn’t expect me to fall in love with you, I suppose?” With a cold realisation, Albus froze. For it was never the lust that Gellert had any problem with, only the love. That which Albus thought so righteous, Gellert thought of as drivel. And as soon as this fleeting pleasure started to look remotely like something lasting, he’d shut all the blinds and shoved his head into the sand. “Or did you just not expect to fall in love with me?”

Gellert gave a long exhale, then turned his stubborn gaze to Albus finally. He made no reply, which spoke volumes in itself. And, oh, how Albus _hated_ him. He was just so despicable in his arrogance and pettiness. How he’d sauntered into Godric’s Hollow without a care, and looked at Albus like he’d have him eating out of his hand in no time at all. And he did, of course. But now Albus had him on his knees, too, in all sense but the literal. The only problem was that he was loathe to admit it. 

“Well. I hope you had fun flirting with me, at least.”

“You could be a little kinder, Albus,” snapped Gellert. “This is as difficult for me as for you.”

“Is it?” asked Albus, with dramatised shock. “You don’t show it.” Gellert glared at him, and Albus shook his head, turning away. “No… if you felt remotely the same as I do, you would never be acting as you are now. I never knew you would be such a coward.”

“I am a coward?” Gellert repeated tightly.

“Yes. A coward and a hypocrite.” Albus trembled with annoyance, and turned back around to face him fully once more. “For isn’t this what you’ve been saying all along? Man is at his best when he is being true to his identity, and our love is part of us, no matter how much you deny it. Hiding in the shadows, holding back our desires… it’s just the same as how we are repressed in our magic. We will never be free until we are free to do magic, as we will never be free until we are free to love each other. We will never be great… never reach that potential. Love makes us _stronger_ , Gellert, not weaker.”

Gellert’s eyes had grown wide, his mouth opening and closing wordlessly. “M-maybe so,” he said finally. “But it remains that our followers would not support it. You would have us be outcasts, Albus, and then where would we be?”

“Together, at least. I don’t care, I don’t want followers who would hold such prejudices—”

“You reckless idealist, Albus!” Gellert shouted, suddenly enraged. “You must pick your battle, because you will not be winning both! These are the sacrifices we make, yes? As you say yourself, for the greater good.”

Albus mouth fell open. “You would have me choose, between your cause and my love?”

Gellert’s eyes were shining, his mouth pressed tightly closed. His voice cracked when he spoke. “It is _our_ cause.”

“As it is _our_ love.”

Gellert tossed his head, running a hand through his hair with an agonised look. “No. _You_ would have _me_ choose. I am telling you my choice is made.”

Albus felt his heart beating, then, suddenly unable to hear anything else. He could have sworn that he could feel the organ slowly sink and become swallowed up by that ever-growing pit in his stomach. For this was the true reason after all: not that Gellert did not love him, nor that he was scared to, but that Gellert put this cause — their cause — above all else, and their love would be its downfall. Because the world was not ready for something as simple as two people who loved each other, and it certainly was not ready to be led by two such people. Albus knew Gellert well enough to know how important this was to him, how it consumed his whole life and his every waking moment. Sometimes he believed that perhaps it was all he had. Only now he had Albus, too, or might have had. And how could Albus make him choose? Because Gellert was right, after all: there was no way they could have both. 

Albus brought a hand lightly to his face. “I suppose it is a stalemate, then.”

His legs like jelly and exhaustion setting into his bones, Albus dropped to his knees and sat himself on the sand. He stared at the strand, unseeing, his mind oddly blank. Not even thinking, not trying to come up with a counter-argument. Because it was so terribly sad to have to debate it, anyway. It shouldn’t have needed debating at all. 

Albus turned his face away, scrunching his face up against tears as he finally started to realise the situation they were left in. Gellert stood awhile longer, then came to sitting beside him. Eyes screwing closed, Albus breathed and tried to calm himself, but only felt instead the awful dread of uncertainty roiling in his belly. And, still, _still_ , his heart beating so wildly in his ribcage, beating out for his love, and the sinking, sullied feeling of disappointment in the same organ as he denied it its one wish.

“I am sorry, Albus.”

Albus exhaled, turning to look at his friend. “Do you regret meeting me?”

Gellert met his eyes, brows drawing up. “Never.”

“Do you regret loving me?”

“I…” Gellert’s mouth fell open slightly, and he swallowed and searched Albus’ face desperately. “ _No_.”

“Then don’t be sorry.” Albus sighed, lying back in the sand. He blinked back the tears that had failed to fall, and blew out his cheeks. “I cannot blame you, anyway. It is merely the subjugation of our kind.”

Gellert paused, then dropped his head into his hands, bursting into sudden laughter. Albus couldn’t muster a response. The other boy sighed, lounging back and looking at Albus, eyes wandering over his face with a small smile. “I do… care for you, Albus. It is not enough to know this?” 

Albus met his eyes, lids half-closed, and Gellert seemed to drink in his looks and his face, and reached out to brush fingers along his temple and into his hair. Albus sighed at the touch, then groaned as it stirred in him a desire to press his whole body to Gellert’s — skin to skin so that Gellert might feel his heat — chest to chest so that Gellert might hear how his heart ached for him so. Albus blinked fast and sat up, facing Gellert and meeting his eyes straight on. Studying his lover’s face — those shadowed eyes sometimes so menacing, but now so soft — the corners and angles of his face like shards of glass warning him away from touch — and his lips, the lips he’d dreamt of kissing, of being kissed by all over, the upper which protruded just slightly over the bottom, and looked so supple and tempting that Albus wanted to lick it, pull it between his teeth and suck on it…

“I am already distracted,” he muttered, leaning ever closer and inching his fingers towards Gellert’s. “Disastrously so. Really it would be better to… to be distracted, wouldn’t it? Then I could finally get a grip on it. A-and no one need know…”

Gellert’s lips twitched into half a smile. “Your innocence betrays you, Albus. It is not the case — for if I were to kiss you once I would never trust myself to stop.”

Albus exhaled a small moan, wishing for nothing more than that exactly. And it was, of course, the first time Gellert had uttered aloud anything remotely resembling the desperate aching hunger Albus suffered for him, now a hunger shared explicitly and irrevocably between them. But as he drew closer still, Gellert reached up and pressed his hand over Albus’ mouth, shoving him away, and groaned as he threw himself back onto the sand. Albus too turned away, bitter and broken, and breathed steadily through his nose.

“How could that possibly be enough?” he muttered. “You may be comfortable in your cage, but I am not.”

Gellert made an indignant noise, but no retort came following. Albus considered, for a moment, that all he had to do was go on a little longer, push a little harder, and Gellert would surely relinquish. That groan said as much. _You’re going to kill me_ , it said. It was hard enough to resist when they were only sitting next to each other — impossible, surely, if Albus could just get his hand in his hand or his lips on his lips or his eyes locked with Gellert’s eyes for a split second longer, just long enough for Gellert’s brain to stop working like Albus’ had long ago.

But he did not dwell on that. He did not know if Gellert would thank him for it. Was Gellert not making his own mind up in the matter, as he should be allowed, without being subjected to dirty tactics from him, his love, the one person who should have supported him? Though, if it had been Gellert in his place, he was not so sure the same conclusion would have been reached. But Albus did not consider himself that sort of person. Not back then, at least.

The silence that fell between them then was tragic, and neither one of them had any words or will left for debating. So they let the issue lie, each dejected and feeling the loser.

Albus hadn’t thought so much about love in his life until these past few weeks, and yet he could never have guessed until now that love could feel as dreadful as this. For, while he did love Gellert, he also hated him, hated him almost as much as he loved him. So he thought perhaps that love was not an inherently virtuous thing — that love was simply all of the extremes of emotion for one person being felt simultaneously. Because that was certainly how it felt to Albus, overwhelmingly so. He could hardly stand it.

He sat up again, turning almost wholly away from Gellert, and squinted out to where the dull clouds met the sea. He breathed slowly, trying to go somewhere else, because remaining here was just agony. 

“I don’t think I can see you for awhile,” he said finally.

He felt Gellert come to sitting beside him, but could not turn his head. Albus closed his eyes, listening to his love’s silence, and Gellert’s voice was terribly low when he spoke next. “You would punish me for this, Albus?”

“No,” laughed Albus. He sighed. “You think me capable of that? It’s just… It’s not your fault, but you _have_ hurt me. It hurts me to be near you. And I just need some time.”

Gellert didn’t say anything at all in response, and Albus wondered for a moment if it really wouldn’t be more painful for them to be apart. But there was no way Albus could fathom being near this person whom he loved so dearly without _being_ with him, and the fact that Gellert believed it remotely possible meant he didn’t really feel the same at all. Or, he didn’t recognise that he did — or he was entirely too optimistic about their self-restraint to begin with. And Albus thought perhaps some time was needed, just so he could figure out how to be with Gellert again without being with him — to love him without loving him. Or maybe it was to discover which would hurt more, after all, being together or apart. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was no plan when Gellert went back to Albus’ room that night. He liked to think he would make a better argument this time around, justify his position in that convincing way he had, and Albus in all his compassion and understanding would… probably not _stop_ hating him, entirely, but at least give up this scorning and promise Gellert that he’d stay with him, go with him, and be with him even if they could not be together. 
> 
> But when he appeared in the room and Albus turned with a shock from where he was curled up on the bed, Gellert in the little light of the twilight saw how his eyes were rimmed with red — and all his resolve shattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note to say, I forgot to mention and may have effed up the pacing, but this story will in fact be ending soon. Honestly I just wish I had more time to get into this pairing, there really is so much about it that interests me and so much more I wanted to develop. But really I just wanted to write a beautiful, brief little tragedy, and it’s already gotten way out of hand :D I’m really delighted with all the amazing comments I’ve gotten so far, so thank you so much! There will be 10 chapters total.

Albus left Gellert on the beach, the other boy unresponsive in what Albus could only assume was a sudden onset of shock. He Apparated to the woods on the edge of town, thinking the walk home might do him good. But the fresh air only seemed to catch in his throat, a burning beginning behind his eyes, and he was barely home before he had to press a hand to his face to hold back the sobs that wracked up from his core. He staggered through the door, ducking his head to try make a break for his room. But Ariana met him on the stairs.

“Oh, you’re ho—? _Albie_ , what’s _wrong?_ ”

He shook his head, stuttering and failing to speak, then broke down completely into blinding hot tears. Ariana jumped up and down and shouted for Aberforth.

Aberfoth took one look at him and went beet red. “WHAT’D HE DO?”

Albus could barely respond but to shake his head. 

“Where’s my wand — AL, GIMME YOUR WAND!”

“N- _no_ ,” hiccoughed Albus, waving his arms. He tried to breathe in and out deeply just to stop from gasping, and realised at once that he _couldn’t_. Then he started to panic, hyperventilating, inhaling great angry gulps of air with no time to breathe out. Aberforth shoved him down to sit on the stairs and Ariana rubbed his back as he put his head between his knees and tried desperately to calm himself. But it was a lot easier to succumb to the sobbing, hiding his face in his hands as his whole body quaked, shamefully hiding away from his siblings, if only for a moment. Then, feeling pins and needles and scared he might faint, he forced his self-pity to the back of his mind and focussed instead on regaining his breath, and if possible his composure.

“I’m f-fine,” he said, looking up at last but still unable to stop trembling. His brother and sister gave each other a look, and Albus thought fast. “I’m just — he’s l-leaving so soon, and I… I’m just — I’m just u-u-upset, that’s all…”

The lie almost depressed him more than anything, for it was a half-truth and yet he wished that were the only problem. And he couldn’t tell anyone what really had him so hysterical — except Gellert. But he couldn’t speak to Gellert, so he had no-one.

“You fought with him, didn’t you?” asked Aberforth. Albus looked up to see his brother frowning deeply. “About leaving.”

Albus swallowed and nodded. He wished he knew when he’d become such an opportunistic git, and such a dreaded liar. Perhaps that was Gellert’s influence, as well.

“Well, don’t beat yourself up, Al, he had to face it sooner or later!”

“Shall we have tea?” asked Ariana, glancing at Aberforth and worriedly back to Albus. “Hot chocolate? Won’t you come have tea, Albie?”

“No, I — I really just want to be alone,” said Albus quickly, starting to stagger up so that he might escape to his bedroom.

“Yeah, right. So you can depress yourself even more waiting around for his owl?” Aberforth fumed, trudging down the hall. “Just come have a drink, Al.”

Albus paused a moment while Ariana took his hand. “Come, come, we’ll distract you,” she said reassuringly, and Albus realised with a shock that they were right. He needed distracting, immediately, from his head and his heart, and from the distraction of Gellert. 

“Merlin, I’m so sorry,” he said quickly, petting Ariana’s hand. “A-are you alright?”

“Me?” she asked, laughing slightly. “It’s _you_ we’re worried about.”

“No, no, the last thing we need is for me to be losing my head…”

Ariana cocked her head to one side, looking up at him with a wrinkle between her brows. “You don’t need to be grown up _all_ the time, Albie. You’re still only our brother.”

Albus inhaled a little shudder, blinking back tears again, and reached down to hug his little sister briefly. When he let go she beamed at him, and Albus laughed a little in relief, feeling as though he hadn’t seen her or their brother in something like years. Only Gellert — his whole world revolving around Gellert — and forgetting so criminally the familiar and comfortable and easy relationships of siblings. And so he let Ariana lead him delicately to the sitting room, and after a moment Aberforth came back with whiskey instead of tea, because apparently he knew the location of the stash all along, and it was a jolly good thing he did.

His siblings didn’t ask him any more questions about his breakdown, just chattered and told stories to divert his attention, even when in lulls in the conversation he started to tear up again and feel short of breath, or when he found himself staring into space, mind spiralling with all these miserable thoughts, or when he jumped at the slightest creak from upstairs, thinking Gellert may have come in the window looking for him, and had to berate himself and resist getting up to check. 

Or even when there was a knock at the front door, and all three of them jumped like rabbits at the sound. 

His siblings looked at Albus, who looked back blankly. There was another knock, impatient this time, and Albus knew for certain then that it was Gellert. He sighed, unsurprised, and very reluctant to go see him in this state.

“He’s never used the front door before,” remarked Ariana, glancing at him, and Albus felt a little warmth grow in his cheeks that his siblings had known all along how Gellert had been using his bedroom window.

Aberforth crossed his arms. “What’s the chance he’s come to apologise?”

“Zero,” laughed Albus, though laughing made him feel unhinged so he quickly stopped.

Ab gave Ariana a look and she went to answer. Albus waited with bated breath, feeling stricken, and in two minds about rushing to him and apologising, flinging himself in his arms or punching him. Three minds, he supposed. When Ariana returned, her lips were pursed.

“He’s very angry,” she said quietly.

“What did he say?” asked Albus, aghast.

“Nothing, he just seemed… upset.”

Albus breathed out shakily, eyes flicking to the door. He thought maybe he should go to him, after all. But for the first time since their meeting, he felt a little frightened of Gellert. He had asked for time to think, and Gellert was refusing it to him. But his knock had been so frantic, and Albus wanted to comfort him, but he couldn’t comfort him in the state he was in, and still all he wanted to do was to take him in his arms, to hold him and kiss him — but he needed to _think_ , not do something impulsive, especially when Gellert had already refused him so firmly and thoroughly. Even then thinking only made him weep, and everything was such a terrible mess and even though his siblings were being so kind to him he still felt so very sad and alone. They didn’t _understand_ , not really, and he couldn’t tell them either. Gellert was the only one who understood, and the only person he really wanted to see. But he couldn’t see him, couldn’t speak to him _…_ for what did he expect Gellert to say anyway? Everything had already been said. 

Unless, of course, he really had come to apologise. 

Later, when he finally found himself too exhausted to stay up any longer, Aberforth attempted to convince him to swap rooms with him for the night in case Gellert came knocking on the window, but Albus knew there were things in his desk he didn’t want his brother to read, and if letters were to arrive they would not be for any eyes but his own. If Gellert wanted to keep all feelings between them a secret, Albus could give him that, at least. 

*

Meanwhile, Gellert was having the worst day of his life. It was worse than the day he was expelled from Durmstrang, when in the heat of the altercation Headmaster Redl snatched his wand from his hands and came disastrously close to snapping it in two. Worse still than going home that evening to find both parents screaming at him until all three of them were hoarse and there was no glass left in the house left unsmashed. And even worse — far, far worse — than that night he spent some weeks later on the banks of the Donaukanal, beaten so badly he could barely muster a healing charm, after he’d followed a strapping young soldier who’d been giving him eyes all night in the bathhouse to the park only to be met instead with an ambush. 

It was a blessing and a curse that his attackers had only been Muggles: he had the means to retaliate or make himself scarce with magic, and yet the scene might have ended infinitely worse if he’d thought to fight back. Hard as it was to admit, that was all decided in hindsight: at the time he’d been so terrified he might have forgotten he was a Wizard at all, it being all he could do just to run. His impulse had always been to push back, fight back, scream back. But it was the first time in his life that such a cowardly instinct as fleeing had saved him. He thought he’d been luckyjustto get out in one piece, but it was not until the next morning he realised he might have chosen that fate rather than to cause a scene and end up arrested. For in the papers it was reported that a soirée of men sharing his ‘unnatural inclinations’ had been ransacked by the _Gendarmerie_ — the very party for which he’d been all over town for weeks trying to get an invite. A certain fellow amongst his schoolchums even had the idiocy to send him a pleading letter from prison. Gellert burnt the letter, fleeing the city the same day.

It struck him like a bolt of lightning that what he was doing — who he was being — was a risk to himself and to what he wanted to do and be in the future. He’d always been reckless at school, subtle in his advances but unconcerned if they went awry, but now he found himself obsessively counting the few partners he’d had in bathroom stalls and secret corners of the castle — the ones who knew his name or his face, at least, who could reveal to the world the kind of person he was — and thought himself ready to _Obliviate_ the lot — or worse, if needed — so that they might never speak a word of his proclivities, which if not enough to lock him up for good would at the very least follow him for the rest of his life, destroying any chance he ever had of becoming a public figure. For he had _plans_ now, he had a whole _world_ to reform. And he’d been so arrogant, thinking he had some sliver of freedom now that he was out in that world on his own. He’d thought for a moment that he was invincible. But now, for the first time in his life, he was frightened. It was a big world out there, and he was more alone than ever.

Then, for a brief spell, he hadn’t been alone at all.

It was not long after that incident that a letter from a boy not much older than himself had reached him from England, a reply to one of many letters he’d sent out to promising young minds and talents in order to build connections. A cheerful letter, and an article attached, and when in later correspondence a throwaway comment was made about a symbol on a gravestone, it occurred to Gellert that a change of scenery might do him a world of good. 

He could hardly believe the chances when he’d glimpsed that boy’s face in the upstairs window and felt the familiar moment’s lingering as their eyes met. What were the odds of that, in any case, and so soon after all that terror and sickness that had put an end to his stay in Vienna? And just as old habits die hard he found it terribly difficult to resist a little flirtation, which only went down a storm (if he did say so himself), and after a bit of reflection he supposed that one last little fling couldn’t do so much harm. He felt so very safe and sheltered in that tiny village, after all, like anything they might do did not matter or would not even be remembered beyond that of a dream. And poor Albus — sweet Albus, with all his unabashed laughter and eagerness — would only be too easy to seduce. A few friendly touches here and there, a couple that stayed just a moment too long, then once he noticed the flickering in the other boy’s eyes he’d slip his hand somewhere new, and _have_ him. 

Only he didn’t get that far, before Albus had seen right through him (in every sense but _that_ , of course). In hindsight that was something of a miracle, too, because now the plan had changed overnight, and with it Gellert knew he must throw away all his recklessness and the whole sex thing for good; for here, he realised, he would make real progress on his work together with his new friend: his _real_ friend, for once, and for the first time, an equal. And while the seduction may still have worked it was far too risky to go through with it now, for he’d never had a lover where things lasted nearly as long as he needed this partnership to last, nor where things ended altogether amiably. But he thought he could at least try being a friend, just this once, just for a time. No games. No manipulation. And no ulterior motives.

And so Gellert had put up a wall, a line not to cross, and teetered along its edge with impressive poise and discipline, almost relishing in the perceived strength it took to hold himself back. And Albus, he thought, innocent and unassuming as he was in these matters, would probably never realise his true desires until Gellert was long gone. But how long instead did it take for Gellert to notice that his heartbeat always seemed to be thrumming away so merrily whenever they were together, or that his stomach felt ill when they were apart, or how for every waking moment it seemed his mind was clogged up with nothing but Albus, Albus, Albus? Wonderful, whimsical, _formidable_ Albus, whom he’d known right from that second in the graveyard was quite possibly the deadliest man he’d ever met. And so lovely, too, so terribly sweet in all his terrifying cleverness and intuition. How long did it take before Gellert realised he couldn’t do the things he wanted to do without him — and, worse still, that he didn’t _want_ to be without him? Too long: indeed, so long that by the time he realised it was already far too late.

Gellert sat awhile longer at the beach after Albus Disapparated, staring at the spot he’d left behind and having a hard time wrapping his head around what had just happened. He hadn’t thought Albus conscious nor confident enough to make a play for him like that — he’d been underestimating that boy _still_ , he realised, a scary thought in and of itself. And yet he’d held his own, he’d said what he needed to say, and he’d _won_ — hadn’t he? — he’d talked Albus down from the delusions he’d been suffering, the delusions Gellert himself had been so successfully stomping to the back of his mind ever since his second day here in this loathsome little village. Love, romance, it was all unnecessary, all distracting. They could do without it — were better off without it, really. He’d had lovers before, had relations and skin-deep intimacy, but none of them had ever held a candle to the feeling this partnership inspired in him — although he could never quite explain why. 

Gellert did not recognise as Albus did, the difference between love and lust. But he knew that if he had his body once then the sentimentality and weakness of what Albus called _love_ would come crashing down upon him and be his undoing. He believed that as long as he never touched him he would not be weakened, not lose his resolve, and never lose this precious friendship either. 

But now Albus was gone, and — long as Gellert waited — he did not return. 

It was hours later that Gellert found his way back to his bedroom, weary from head to toe, thinking of Albus next door — hating him, missing him — and immediately went to the window to climb over the kitchen roof to the back garden, and up the footholds he’d cast into the side of his friend’s house for his visits. But the window was locked — for the first time all summer, it was locked. 

Bewildered by this discovery, he Apparated in broad daylight to Albus’ room to find it empty. There were voices downstairs, and after listening for a moment he heard all three siblings speaking in gentle tones. He thought of Albus’ stupid brother and sister, who never had come to like him: the three Dumbledores all sharing some magic brand of empathy which allowed them to see right through liars and cheats such as himself. And yet Albus could see his true nature and still admired him — _loved_ him, even, although the word _love_ still meant little to Gellert — and that knowledge alone made him want to tear out his own heart just to rid himself of this horrid feeling. He thought of them comforting Albus, when it should have been _him_ — but he couldn’t comfort him, either, without relinquishing his fears. He imagined them telling Albus he was better off, which was true, but infuriated him anyway. And would they manage to convince him? Would Albus come to his senses and abandon him, too? He deserved it, surely, but all these weeks they’d spent together had lulled Gellert into a false sense of security, a sense that Albus was _his_ , that he would have him by his side forever, and he’d spent so very long and so much energy nudging Albus further and further to the only logical conclusion to this desperate situation: that they must leave this wretched place together, and preferably as soon as possible. All of that might have been undone, now, all that effort wasted. And yet nothing seemed to scare Gellert more than the thought of leaving Albus behind.

He did not wish to be found by any of them except Albus, so he Apparated back to his room and started frantically writing letters, but his words were garbled nonsense and he couldn’t seem to think. Then, his pride at a low point, he tried going over to knock on the front door, only for it to be answered by the tragic little sister, who told him with eyes downcast that Albus did not wish to see him. And that was the thing that enraged him the most, for if it had been the brother maybe he would have barged his way in anyway, but with the girl he could only stand here dumbly as she shut the door in his face. 

So while Albus sat in the sitting room being comforted by his siblings, Gellert marched back up the stairs to the bedroom in his aunt’s house, and, after staring around indignantly for a moment, sat on the floor by the bed where Albus used to sit, clutching his knees to his chest and burying his head in his arms. Gellert used to lie on the bed during his breaks from writing and gaze at the auburn top of Albus’ head, wishing to reach over and run fingers through the long hair that was everywhere, all over him, all the time without ever trying to. He used to lie there at night and dream of sleeping next to him, his heart aching for something he hadn’t known the word for: a yearning for something from that boy that he’d never known existed, something like forever and a heartbeat and a hand in his hand, fingers interlaced. And he’d been so _good_ to resist it for so long, all the affection that would have ruined him. And yet things had been ruined anyway.

The truth was that Gellert had been struck with dread the moment he realised his desire for Albus was more than fleeting; that it encompassed his mind and soul as well as his body; that he had, as Albus put it so plainly for him at last, _fallen in love_. He loathed those words and he loathed himself for admitting their truth. He had not expected it, not thought himself capable of it, and most certainly considered himself above it. Sure, he respected Albus to the moon and back, because he knew he must share the work and the result with him in order to achieve it at all. But allowing himself to _love_ him… somehow, it scared him more than any of that. Because in love he was truly vulnerable, and in love he was weak. And love would be his downfall — _their_ downfall — for if anyone were to know of it they’d be pariahs at best, exterminated at worst, and in each and every scenario he could foresee doomed to a life of social exclusion and political impotence. And Albus, too, would have him ruined by tying him down to this place where they could be together and talk forever and where nothing really seemed to matter anymore except for just the two of them. Tempting as that was — and, _oh_ , how it tempted him — they were bigger than just this feeling, and their plans were bigger still. And yet Albus’ words, which sounded so terribly like an ultimatum, had unhinged him. 

_I don’t think I can see you for awhile._

Gellert realised at once that even without having had him, without so much as touching him, he was already ruined. He needed Albus by his side, for his brain, yes, and his brilliance. But, worse, because he could not fathom being without him. And yet Albus would not be with him unless they could be together.

How could one choose, when each choice led straight to hell? And all he desperately wished for was to keep his sanity along the road. 

There was no plan when he went back to Albus’ room that night. He liked to think he would make a better argument this time around, justify his position in that convincing way he had, and Albus in all his compassion and understanding would… probably not _stop_ hating him, entirely, but at least give up this scorning and promise Gellert that he’d stay with him, go with him, and be with him even if they could not be together. 

But when he appeared in the room and Albus turned with a shock from where he was curled up on the bed, Gellert in the little light of the twilight saw how his eyes were rimmed with red — and all his resolve shattered. Albus uttered his name with a strangled sob and lunged for him, and Gellert caught him in his arms and held him tight, taking his face in both of his hands and kissing him fiercely, pressing his lips all over as if to mop up the tears, and Albus gasped and almost collapsed in his arms, clutching the bottom of his shirt — then his shoulders — then his face — and kissing him wildly back. And, oh, Gellert had kissed, but never like this, never while feeling like his heart might burst out of his chest and his skin seemed electrified with the contact. And Albus had never kissed anyone at all, and felt drunk with it, all dizzy and faint. 

Panting, their frantic lips broke apart, and Gellert grabbed Albus immediately into a crushing embrace. 

“I’m _sorry_ ,” he choked, pressing his face into Albus’ shoulder and trembling whole-bodily. “I’m so sorry, Albus, please don’t— don’t _leave_ me—”

“I’m not leaving,” replied Albus as firmly as he could while still breathless, clutching him tight and clamping his eyes shut, feeling weak-kneed and set alight by the closeness of his body, their bodies, like many blisters boiling all over in delicious agony. 

But Gellert pulled back and gripped his face, searching his shocking blue eyes in earnest. “I-I must never be without you again,” he insisted, pressing their foreheads together. “Promise — _promise_ you’ll stay with me.”

Albus gazed back adoringly, urgently, his fingers climbing up into Gellert’s golden hair. And he could touch it, run his fingers through it, and kiss him again without hesitation. And so he did, and was delighted and empowered with this newfound freedom. He grabbed Gellert’s hands and kissed them, too. “I’m not going anywhere, Gellert — I promise you.”

Gellert growled slightly, setting a little fire in Albus’ abdomen, and grabbed him up in his arms again to kiss him. And Albus groaned as it spurred on all that aching in his whole body, his whole being, their lips clamping together wetly once more as Gellert’s tongue invaded his mouth and stoked that fire into a blaze. And Gellert’s hands were all over him, drawing across shoulders, sinking down his chest, grabbing a handful of his crotch —

Albus gave a loud, involuntary moan, eyes flying open. “W-wait,” he gasped, his face and neck burning hot and — _Merlin_ , he might’ve exploded from that alone given another second. “We can’t—”

Gellert clutched him closer, leaning his face down and drawing their hips together so that Albus could _feel_ his stiff longing for him. “No,” he breathed. “I must have you now, Albus — I must know you are mine.”

Albus’ jaw had gone slack, pushed to limits of agony and need he hadn’t known existed before until he’d felt that hard thing pressed against his own — so hard he could barely breathe, barely stand, barely bring himself to speak. He swallowed thickly, panting for breath just to look up at Gellert with wide eyes. 

He crushed his lips against Gellert’s again, moaning indelicately. 

“Just — not here,” he gasped between kisses. “We’ll be heard.”

Gellert hesitated for a second, but then nodded, gritting his teeth. Forgetting the wands in their pockets, and clutching each other’s hands like scared, freed prisoners, they scrambled down the window and over the garden wall, rushing into the hills to the barn where they’d first been inside each other’s minds, where they’d first felt their souls intertwine, and where now they might finally bring that union unto their bodies as well.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For half a moment they might have been happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be aware that this fic is rated Mature, which means while I may not be writing smut, there is a hefty enough sex scene to come. The ratings are weird, but I think that’s allowed at this level. If not I’m happy to change it.
> 
> If you'd prefer not to read that you can skip the 2nd-5th paragraphs and also the one beginning with the line, "It seemed that by his weeping..."
> 
> And, also, in case it hasn’t been clear already, Gellert is not a great guy. He hurts Albus, and then is nice afterwards so that Albus justifies the pain. And it’s the same with this. What I’m trying to say is: it doesn’t have to hurt. And it shouldn’t. I hope I can get that across more directly in the last chapter.

For half a moment they might have been happy. For half a day, half a night, they might have been one. They might have been whole, been each other, loved each other and been loved. And been _love_ , itself, for love seemed to Albus now not as something they did together or had together but that which they _were_ together, when they were one. And to them it felt a little like duelling had, a little like debating — and like nothing they’d ever felt before — fast and fierce and full of zeal, the energy between them a palpable thing that could only be fed with more lips, more tongues, more arrant hands. More skin to send shivering, more flesh to brand with their searing touch. For Gellert felt he must put his hands everywhere, every line and every crevice, to bruise the flesh and scar the skin and leave his mark there on his lover’s tender body, and for Albus to mark him in return — to make him his — for it was these bodies and this flesh that was keeping their soul apart.

It was all Albus could do just to keep up. If he had ever questioned that Gellert shared his proclivity or his hunger for his body, those doubts were instantly quelled with how ravenously Gellert embraced him then, clutching him as if to consume him into his own body, kissing as if to devour him whole. They stripped off their shirts like the shedding of skin, doing away with those measly boundaries and bodies that would hold them apart. Albus thrilled just to feel Gellert’s skin under his fingertips, but Gellert’s lips found his neck and his chest and had sunk to his knees in front of him before Albus could prepare himself, fumbling with those blasted buttons before ripping his breeches down along with his underwear and pressing his face into his groin. And Albus practically gurgled as he tried not let his legs buckle, grabbing Gellert’s head just to hold himself up, and looked down blinking in the dark with disbelief as Gellert wrapped his mouth around him, sending shockwaves up his spine and down his thighs and making him tremble and gasp so violently until a moment later he erupted.

Panting, lost for words, he ran his fingers through Gellert’s curls and Gellert looked up with a teasing smirk, holding a hand to his mouth as he swallowed and grabbed Albus’ wrist to yank him down to his knees as well. Then he sat up, grabbing Albus head and tipping it back, to gently drip Albus’ fluid into his own mouth. Albus, boneless with fresh exhaustion and bliss, let himself be fed and then tasted himself again on Gellert’s tongue as if he were tasting Gellert himself.

They fell down on conjured blankets and Gellert’s breeches were gone in an instant, and with them they lost all sense of separation. The damp summer evening and exertions had left sheens of sweat on their skins, now glowing warm with each other’s heat when pressed together, wrapped around each other, within and without. Albus crawled over Gellert to scatter his lips down his chest, down his belly, all the way down, intoxicated with the taste and the smell of him, and all those little huffs and puffs like sweet music stirring him back to arousal, feeling himself boil down below as he learned the shape of his lover with his tongue and his mouth. At first Gellert watched him, a little awed and a little proud to be the first he’d ever tasted, but eventually settled into the glorious satisfaction of it and tossed his head back, grinning as he groaned and sighed. But soon he needed more, needed to bury himself in his love and his lover and to blend the lines of their bodies further, so he grabbed Albus and shoved him face down on the blanket, and Albus, knowing what was to come, almost forgot how to breathe as he lifted his hips up, lurching when Gellert spit on him and hovered above so as to push inside. 

For a second Albus felt terribly excited, sensitive in that place in a way he had not expected, and then another moment of — _what’s taking so long?_ — and then he was wrenched to reality with a shattering pain. It was more shocking a pain than Albus had experienced in his life — so painful it pushed him to tears and to swallowing cries a moment after Gellert first entered him, thinking he couldn’t possibly bear it a second longer. But Gellert wrapped his arms tightly around and sank against him, ensnaring and embracing him, reaching underneath his body to grab him in hand. Albus gasped, twitching and screwing his eyes shut with how the feeling seemed to slip inside of him as Gellert held him like that for a moment, pleasure and pain combining into one, and by the time Gellert began to move it felt like injecting ecstasy directly into his spinal cord, smarting like an open wound, and in that excruciating pleasure and euphoric pain he buckled and came, convulsing and crying out with noises he never knew he could make. And not a moment later as his sensitivity was growing unbearable, Gellert’s grunts grew louder, faster, and finally triumphant as he spilled inside him. Then Gellert collapsed, shuddering and squeezing his arms around Albus’ torso so tightly Albus thought he might bruise, and then came up on his elbows and turned Albus’ face to kiss him fiercely again.

By that time Albus could have sworn he could feel every coarse hair on Gellert’s body and every muscle below the skin, and pressed his mouth back against Gellert’s as best he could in his growing lethargy, letting his tongue be seized by Gellert’s savagery. When Gellert rolled off him and they lay panting in their beat out bliss, Albus felt pins and needles in his face and began laughing and shivering as tears streamed from his eyes, and Gellert gazed at him with a smile equally bemused and bewitched, before pulling him back towards him to cradle his head to his chest, and started laughing, too. For Gellert had never lain with a lover after the act, nor seen him in that vulnerable state, and in a sense it occurred to him that he’d never really had another lover at all, before Albus. Not one he loved, anyway.

For half a moment they might have been happy. They might have forgotten everything, all the trouble, all the world which would have forsaken them. They were simply together, in each other’s arms, inside each other and all around, as they were always meant to be — at home and at peace.

Then that moment ended, and Gellert began to weep so pitifully, clutching Albus close as he spilled all his terrible secrets: things he’d done and things he’d feared and worst of all, all of his weaknesses and _love_. Because he _loved_ Albus, he saw that now, he loved him so desperately that he didn’t know how to go on. And Albus’ eyes were opened again to how terribly sad and scared they were, and how Gellert had suffered, been suffering all this time. Gradually his body began to feel tired and tender and aching in all the wrong places as it struck him just how naïve he’d been all this time — ignorant in his fearless, joyful, optimistic love. And how short-sighted, too, only barely seeing to the end of his prick and the outskirts of their soul and never guessing that things might not be happily ever after now that they’d finally come together. He almost resented Gellert for crying and yanking him from heaven to that kind of revelation, but at the same time felt an overwhelming surge of affection and pity for his poor lover as he sobbed in his arms, and on top of that… a strange vindictive pleasure. The boy who’d wept on the stairs and drank whiskey with his brother and sister seemed like a different person now, and yet Albus found his heart had not fully forgiven Gellert for being the cause of its breakage, which even now did not feel completely mended. 

But perhaps this was love, too: a real, anguished, adult love. A higher thing — all the more beautiful for the suffering. And perhaps forgiveness was not necessary between the two of them any longer — for Gellert had only hurt Albus because the world had hurt him, and Albus might go on to hurt Gellert in turn, and be hurt again, and so on, until between themselves they might succeed in containing all of this suffering and pain, at least to save it going back out into the world. He wondered, too, if perhaps with enough of this love they could conquer it — not to undo the damage, entirely, but at least to suture the wound — although for the first time he couldn’t say for certain that even love could fix all that was wrong. He had told Gellert they would be stronger in love, not weaker. Now he was not so sure.

It seemed that by his weeping Gellert had transferred his grief to Albus, who held onto it in some kind of lover’s martyrdom, knowing he had room in his heart for pain and that Gellert had been hurt in ways he'd never imagined. So he took that pain and carried it instead, even if just to lighten Gellert’s load a little, and Gellert himself became instilled with a fervent affection, and from the moment he ran out of tears began to kiss Albus all over, all over again. And again Albus may have forgotten everything but for the crest of Gellert’s lips and the hands clasped in his hair, even if he could never quite forget the tear streaks on his lover’s face and the lingering little ache in his backside that was testament to this disparate love. He could know it all, feel it all, all the sadness and pain, so much of it that it should have broken his heart and driven him to desolation, and yet he found he could still feel so intensely the same satisfaction and pride when Gellert rolled onto his back and let Albus clamber on top of him, spreading his thighs and reaching down to guide Albus inside him. And Albus looked down on his lover splayed out beneath him — more beautiful than he’d ever seen him, more beautiful than _anything_ — and watched greedily how the gritted teeth turned to unhindered gasps and how Gellert gripped him and pulled him down to press their chests together, face to face so that they might see each other’s eyes as they ascended back to that place together, so that they might feel each other and see how the other felt them, and know that together they felt something as one.

Albus felt love in those moments, and love in all the moments that followed that night: as he let his hands drift idly over every available inch of Gellert’s skin; as Gellert combed his fingers through his long hair for what he wished could be an eternity; as they lay in each other’s arms in the dark and watched enraptured as the light of morning began to cast colour into their lover’s love-bright eyes. And Albus thought perhaps _this_ was love, after all, his definition changing once more. Not altogether virtuous, not just a shared tragedy, but a means to remind his lover that despite all of this hurting there was still light in the world, a light as clear and brilliant and beautiful as the one they saw reflected in each other’s eyes. He could not fix his woes nor settle his worries, would not even know where to begin. But he could take all that Gellert threw at him and offer in return this simple respite, this simple goodness, if that in turn could make him feel even a little less alone. 

He thought, in a way, it was the same as with families. Only this was the family he’d chosen for himself.

“That chapter… I’ll cull it.”

“Hm?”

“The Wizard-Muggle union — I’ll drop it, for you, Albus. Let them marry Muggles, I don’t care. I only need you.”

Albus smiled. He didn’t give a toss about the chapter, not now that they were finally together. “Hm, yes. We will reach a wider audience that way.” He paused, sighing contentedly as Gellert came back up on his elbows to kiss his mouth. Smirking, he bit his lip as Gellert pulled back. “We only want our freedom, after all.”

“Oh, you _are_ a snake, aren’t you?” muttered Gellert, pulling him close again to litter kisses along his neck. “Freedom for all, yes — as long as it still appeals to the masses.”

Albus swallowed, dropping his eyes. “And so we must keep ourselves a secret.”

Gellert sighed, dropping his head to Albus’ chest and stroking the thick hair there. “Until the day we have the power to change that, too. One step at a time, my dear.”

Albus smiled, so gloriously pleased by those tender words, and snatched up Gellert’s hand to have a war with his thumb. “As long as they will not impeach us for it first.”

Gellert frowned, using his other hand to capture Albus', and traced the lines in his palm. He was silent for a moment, thinking. “They would not dare. Together we would be stronger than anything.”

“ _Are_ stronger,” corrected Albus.

Gellert paused again, then sat up suddenly. “We must be together always. I cannot — I will not be without you again.”

Albus laughed a little, confused by the intensity. “Gellert, I’m yours. You don’t need to worry.”

“You will pledge it? Consummate it?”

“I think we’ve consummated three or four times already,” he replied with a smirk, rubbing his knee up Gellert's bare thigh.

Gellert thumped him. “I meant something more officious — something binding.” He sat up further, turning wholly to Albus and gripping both their hands together in front of them. “I would pledge myself to you, Albus. And my love. Because we must be together always, don’t you see? I must know it is true.”

Albus wrinkled his brow. “In my mind we are bound already. What more is there to do?”

“ _Hantvestinge,”_ replied Gellert instantly. “It is old magic. Blood magic. With this, we would be bonded. We would be _family_.” 

Albus choked on the heart now beating in his throat and threatening to spill out of his mouth with the joy that statement brought on. He sat, too, grasping Gellert’s hands and bringing them to his mouth to kiss. “Oh, do let’s, Gellert. I love you — I want nothing more.”

It had not occurred to Albus that such a thing was open to them, that such a thing was the culmination of all of this, that even if the two of them had been reunited in all ways figuratively imaginable, it was still only temporary, still only a feeling, a fleeting act. He might have complained about putting their clothes back on, but this was something greater, something more powerful, and with it they would bring something physical to the world to prove their bond, to make flesh of their union and eternal their love. This average, everyday vow that the world would have refused them — they could make it, take it, seize it for themselves. They had bonded in mind, yes, in all of their discussions; bonded in soul in their love; and body by lovemaking — and yet it was not enough just to possess it, and know it themselves, or to experience it day in and day out for the rest of their lives. They must prove it — must promise it. They must make it a vow.

Albus was quivering as he brought his wand up, glancing at Gellert for confirmation only to see his lover’s face set in solemn concentration. But Albus did not feel serious in the least, and had to suppress his joyful smile, his soaring heart, just to not let himself be overcome with giddiness. He was first to make the score in his palm — it stung and spilled crimson, his pulse thrumming fast and hot within the wound. Only Gellert’s rising and falling chest betrayed his composure as he did the same, and brought his hand up along with his eyes to meet with Albus’. As they pressed their palms together the cuts bit and flared heat, and Albus gasped softly and let his eyes fall shut, feeling Gellert’s touch sear through every nerve and every vein. Gellert pushed against his hand further, then interlaced the fingers, and Albus squeezed his hand in return as he felt Gellert’s blood weep into him and spread tingling all over his body. Gellert stared at him, drinking in the sight of him, until his eyes too rolled shut.

Without wands, without words, their blood blended and was bound in a trinket. Albus let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding, and let Gellert scoop him back into his arms. He felt dizzy, drunk, euphoric: so happy he felt he might weep once more with joy. Gellert kissed his face, smearing blood, almost manic again in his affection.

“Now… let us to pack our bags.”

Albus only hesitated for a moment, but Gellert caught it, and in a single second their whole world seemed to fracture. Albus thought it a little strange, at first, how he could feel such a gulf between them at that moment, so soon after they’d been joined. He thought he’d feel eternally that connection, that alignment of their souls, thought perhaps that the world would stop turning and they would truly become one, in body, mind and spirit, and that they might never need speak again nor disagree nor move from this very spot, because this ancient reunion had been all they’d been searching for all along. But Gellert had still cried, when Albus felt like rejoicing, and Gellert had talked about chapters and politics when all Albus wanted was to stop talking for once, and now Gellert was gripping his hand so hard that it hurt, and did not let go even when Albus winced. 

“Albus, I’d stay here with you, but you don’t — we don’t belong here, we have things to do—”

“I know,” said Albus quickly, replacing his hand in Gellert’s with the undamaged one, trying to sound certain even though he’d never been less certain of anything in his life. But Gellert was anxious and suspicious and it had started to scare Albus again. He knew something was wrong, felt uneasy in the very depths of his mind, but there was no time to consider and become conscious of how all the pieces had seemed to fall into place so very conveniently to lead to this outcome. How Gellert had made him promise never to leave him, and now they were leaving. How it was all decided in the aftermath of their passions, and Albus might have done anything to cling to that splendour just a moment longer. How he had convinced Gellert to become one with him, and now they were bound irrevocably, inescapably and eternally in blood and magic.

He knew, later, that Gellert had probably not done it all consciously. He simply couldn’t have stopped manipulating if he tried. And Gellert only did it because he was scared, anyway, and Albus could never blame him for that. He understood too well Gellert’s mind, empathised too strongly with his manipulator. And he, from the very start, had known that Gellert was capable of this. But Albus thought himself sharp enough not to be blinded, clever enough not to be swayed, and later, perhaps, virtuous enough to cleanse it. Just as he’d dabbled so arrogantly with dark forces, thinking himself strong enough to resist them. Just as he’d been playing with ideals of power, thinking himself worthy of their grandeur. And yet if he could go back, Albus could not say he would have done anything differently, because while this love was not perfect, not as noble as he’d once thought, he still did love Gellert, and he _wanted_ to go with him. He wanted to leave, had wanted it from the start. Gellert never needed to manipulate him, and perhaps if he’d known that things mightn’t have ended as they did. Albus would have gone, eventually, simply because he wanted to. 

He made his choices, just as Gellert made his. 

He did wish to say, _I need to say goodbye to my family._ But Gellert was his family now. And he couldn’t falter, must not show his doubt, lest Gellert mistake his reluctance for a lack of love and lose all faith in them entirely.

“Let’s go,” he said. And in half a moment, the world would come crashing down.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter?!?! I don’t know if I managed to express all I wanted to or if this will be a satisfying conclusion, but I’m proud of what I’ve written in the last two months. This ended up becoming something very meaningful to me on the topic of love and empathy and moving on from an abusive partner, so I hope I can get some of that across.
> 
> I would like to say one last thank you for all the lovely and supportive comments! I have a [Tumblr](https://loveyoutopiecesdistractionetc.tumblr.com/) I may eventually make into my writing platform if anyone wishes to check that out and chat with me over there, though I cannot say I plan on writing Grindeldore again anytime soon. This has all been a very extended break from writing my original novel… which I really should be getting back to now ;)
> 
> In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this last chapter, and thanks a mil for reading!

Albus had never given much thought to love until that summer. He had thought about people, and how their minds worked. He had thought about power, and how to manipulate it. But he had not thought about love and how to love another. Once one was in love, it did not seem the kind of thing one needed to dwell on. It seemed like it should have been simple, should have been obvious, should have been _good_.

And so, he wondered, was it still acceptable to call what they had love? It was hard to explain how one could claim to love a person he’d only known for a handful of weeks one summer in his youth, without knowing the half of what that person’s morals were or what they were capable of, and yet Albus couldn’t bear to call it anything else, because to do so would be to take back all that he’d felt, all that he’d known, all that he’d _been_ in those days which were the happiest of his life.

But that only begged a further question: was the person who was, not only capable of, not only prepared to do, but who willingly enacted the things that were so unthinkable, unfeeling, unforgivable to Albus, whose morals were so misaligned with what he considered decent and good, even capable of loving him in return? For a long time, he thought maybe not. Maybe Gellert never loved him. Maybe it had all been falseness, in the end. 

Aberforth had been there when they Apparated to Albus’ bedroom in the still, early hours of the morning, standing above the desk with all their notes and documents spread out over it. Albus would always remember the sickness he felt deep in his bowels when he saw his brother there, knowing how the words written down would seem without context — really, he knew even with context they were more than a little extreme. He knew too how he looked: flushed and dishevelled, as did his companion, with mussed hair and bruise-blossomed skin, blood still hot and sticky in their palms. He knew his brother had been begrudgingly kind to him the day before, knew how he’d tried to stop him going back to the boy who’d made him cry. He knew the same boy, now clutching his hand as if scared Albus would flee if he ever let go, was not going to give him up so easily.

Sometimes he looked back and wondered what would have happened but for Aberforth’s nosiness that morning. Would they have slipped away unheard and unnoticed before the house arose from slumber? Would they have stayed in that dreamlike haze of love for days — months — years — _eternity? —_  and watch all their dreams and ambitions come true? And how long would it have taken, then, for Gellert to be forced in fear and rage to reveal his true colours — or would Albus’ direction instead drift further and further from his moral compass, accepting, justifying and forgiving all of his lover’s actions as they came? What could Gellert have done, to give him pause, to break the spell, except what he’d done that morning? If it hadn’t been _his_ brother’s screams? If it hadn’t been _his_ sister lost? Would Albus ever have stopped and looked at Gellert in alarm, aghast at his actions, and feel his betrayal so agonisingly in his bones and his blood, like being cleft in two from the soul?

Perhaps Gellert mistook that look for hatred. Perhaps that was why he had fled. And perhaps another person might have found it easier to hate him, to say _, how dare you — how_ could _you — get out of my sight._ But, in Gellert’s own words, Albus had far too much sympathy, sympathy for everyone but himself. No, he did not hate Gellert. How could he, when he understood so plainly all the pain and fear that had led to those terrible deeds? And he did wish to see him again, if only to tell him in one way or another, _I know you are scared. I know how it hurts. But you cannot hurt others because of it. Hurt me, if you must, but not them. Not them. They do not deserve it._

For all his talk of soul mates he never quite knew what to do when the other half of his soul turned out to be… what? _Evil?_ There were no evil people, Albus knew that much, only people enamoured with evil, or those who succumbed to it. He knew as well that all people were capable of evil, and he could never forgive himself the path he had almost so willingly raced down without a care. For there was darkness inside everyone, and while dwelling on darkness may have seemed like a way to possess power over it, in reality that was how the darkness was fed, creeping out into all the corners of the mind until one’s whole reasoning was changed, the line of morality growing skewed and broken, until one was not certain at all what they were capable of any longer.

Perhaps love could have helped. Perhaps it was not altogether too late, even then. Because it was not Aberforth’s nosiness that had put a wrench in their elopement, but his _love_. It was the love of both Albus’ siblings that had saved him, even if his brother would hate him for the rest of his life and his sister would not be there to love either way. He always wondered if he couldn’t have saved Gellert, talked him down, if he could have explained to him that while he may have complained of his siblings at every opportunity, and in the darker moments even wished them vanished from his life, that he never, even for a single moment, would _ever_ have wanted to see them harmed. Because he loved them, too, and how could Gellert not see that? How could he not understand, when it was love just the same? Could Albus have taught him that, shown him that there was more to love than what they had, that there were many types of love and all of them were to be treasured? That their love for each other should have made their hearts even wider, with room for others, with capacity to be kind and good and sympathetic to all people, just as his lover was to him, and him to his lover? For God, his lover, and all people were one in the heart of a good man. But most things are not inherently good or evil, only evil or good in the manner in which they are done. Even love was not necessarily expressed in only good actions. Love could be selfish, too, and single-minded. Love could be cruel, if the lovers involved did not know how to cherish it. Albus had to believe still that Gellert had loved him, single-mindedly, whole-bodily and with all of his soul. Gellert just did not know how to love.

Even so, for one to be capable of a virtuous love did make him a virtuous man. It did not excuse all of his wrongs, did not erase the repercussions. Albus had known love like a light, a humbling and a splendid thing that made him want to do good in all his actions, and see good in all the world. But Gellert had fear in his heart: he had rage and anguish and made himself bigger and bolder because he had always felt so very small. He could not see that the actions he would take to hold onto that love would suffocate it, kill it, snuff it out like a light. He could think only of himself and his lover, above all else, with no thought or care for anyone else. Determined to possess it thoroughly, to protect it from the harm he saw seeking to destroy it, to hoard it all to himself and not let anyone near. Gellert might have done anything for Albus, and they both knew he was capable of great and terrible things.

Albus knew, perhaps always believed, that Gellert only ever wished to release him, and was willing to do anything to make it so. That was how he loved, fiercely and imperiously, and it was Albus’ hesitation that had betrayed him — even the slightest pause or doubt had Gellert undone. But to do evil or cause harm in the name of love was not something which Albus could justify, not ever, and so Gellert had betrayed him, too. In that fundamental disagreement, they had betrayed each other.

If they had existed together in a vacuum perhaps Albus would have made himself a martyr for his love, let Gellert hurt him forever just to alleviate some of his own pain. But they did not, and he could not, and some day perhaps he realised that he need not. If not because he believed he deserved better, then because he realised that he could never have saved Gellert anyway. Only Gellert could save himself.

No, it was never his responsibility to save Gellert, but one day it became his responsibility to stop him. Not for himself, or for Gellert, or even for their love — but for the world. For all the Ariana's caught in the crossfire. 

Albus never had a lover again, for he never really stopped loving, only recognised that he could not be together with his love. Even if they were two pieces of a whole it did not mean they were ever meant to be reunited. Zeus had split them in two for fear of their power, and Albus thought now that perhaps he’d been right all along. They had once thought of themselves as _aristos_ , the wisest and best of all humanity. But Albus had learned by now that men could never _be_ best, only _do_ best, and strive to be better always. The root of the word better was the word _good,_ after all. He did not think Gellert an evil man, but neither was he a good man, and he did not try to be. The Gods would have been right to strike them down if they’d conjoined, because power was dangerous in the wrong hands. And theirs were so very wrong indeed. 

If the curse was for lovers to spend their lives in search of their other halves — Albus felt doubly cursed that even though he had found his, they could never be truly reunited. At first, because of their tragedies — but later, he realised, because even though they had lain together and felt each other and held each other close, he still found that the two of them remained separate, with different minds and different morals and different paths to walk. He felt a little silly, looking back, in thinking they might really morph into one being — four arms, four legs, two faces and all. He thought they might have died then and there if they really had, for it being all that was needed or wanted for, never wishing to eat or sleep again, only to live forever in that heavenly state. It occurred to him that in death they might come back to that shape, although he was unsure whether to feel comforted by the thought, or terrorised. And it was with a stab of tragic irony that he remembered at one point they’d never intended to die.

But what was unwise in life was probably unwise in death as well, and little by little as he grew older he became gradually less enamoured by the idea of the split soul. For as he tried to fill in the hole Gellert left in him and piece together all the cracks of their heartbreak, sooner or later he found there was much room in there, much more of himself to discover. That space could be filled with so many things, good or bad, and in turn that would shape how he loved for the rest of his life: like his lover had, all ardor and anguish; like his brother had, with whiskey and griping… or like his sister had, with calm and compassion and mugs of hot chocolate. In small doses, of course, in case even more tragedy befell those he bestowed those gifts of love upon. But still he had to believe that by loving more, by handing out kindness and sewing seeds of hope, by doing good and doing his best and indeed doing all that he could in the hope that it might make up for all that which had been lacking in his first love, all that which had been lost, that one day he might find he had no reason to any longer, no hole left to fill, for it had been turned inside out and ballooned and become _more — he_ had become more — his love a force in itself with no need for one object — himself a fuller whole on his own. Because he was not — on his own, that is. He never was.

Yes, once, he had known a soul that set his own alight and it burned out just as fast. Fleeting and eternal it was, and beautiful in its singularity. But if love was only a means to heal the ache of humanity then it wasn’t just this love that was capable of that. There was so much more love to give, more than he’d known, and infinite love to be gotten, too. While he may never have loved again in that same, singular way, he still he lived a life full of it. And that was just as beautiful, really. In a way, it was more beautiful than anything.

Still, he always imagined, sometimes with dread, sometimes with yearning, the end: the two of them in that place approached by Hephaestus and offered to be melded into one, to be reunited and made whole again in their eternal fate. Two lovers, twinned souls. And would they have accepted? Would Gellert gaze at him again, that elated terror flashing in his eyes — wondering if they were really so lucky to find each other, to know each other, and to be with each other again in body, mind, and spirit, once more and forever — to know his love and his self as one with absolute clarity and understanding, and talk and touch each other again, and never be apart? Would Gellert forgive him for breaking his promise? Would he forgive Gellert for all of his crimes? Was there any need to forgive, in that place, any need for apology, or would they simply come back together in understanding, redemption, and the clean slate of reunion?

Or would it be, as in life, a forgiveness without forgetting, with too much harm done to turn back the clock to a time where they could still be together peacefully, without hearts breaking of guilt and loss. Other times, in his later years, Albus imagined that ending more like a farewell. An eye caught across a long room, almost by accident, but lingering nonetheless. Standing there and seeing his old love from afar, each stopping a moment as they recognised each other, acknowledged each other, and, with a brief nod or even a wistful smile, departed in their different directions. 

Above all else, he knew they would meet again in that place, somewhere between always and never, just as their love had been.


End file.
